Beautiful Release
by Comfy Chair
Summary: 'I need some distraction, oh beautiful release...' Continues on from the Winter finale. Ginny longs for some distraction: from the desertion of her father; her mother's emotional descent, and her fears that she is turning into her. Dancing isn't enough. Frankie is the saviour she has invested so much hope in. What if he fails her? Final chapter now posted.
1. Chapter 1

Part One

She couldn't eat, she couldn't sleep. She hungered for him when he looked at her; when he wasn't looking at her; that face, those eyes, the sinful pleasures she felt. Was he aware how he made her feel? Right now she felt invisible to him, like she wasn't real. Didn't he feel her when she had her arms locked around him? Every step she took, every thought found its way back to him.

Michelle had held her tight; the first person to do so since Frankie the week before, and the only person not including Frankie for what seemed like weeks; certainly since her father had left. When had her mother last touched her so affectionately? Thinking of Frankie's touch again, which was the umpteenth time she had that day and countless since their night together, made Ginny's skin come out in goosebumps: the gentle caresses, the running of his fingers down her spine, the feeling of his warm breath on her neck. She stopped walking. She needed to think about something else. But what if the thought, the memory, was all she would have left from now on? What if she never got to see his beautiful body again; was never again able to lose herself in his presence; never again occupy that alternative reality she had conjured up for herself whenever she was with him? The thought scared her. She had invested so much of her well being, her sanity, in being able to snatch precious moments with Frankie, and they were moments when compared to the hours of relentless life she endured when not with him. Was this how her mother felt, without her father's presence? She shivered despite the evening's humidity and felt the recurring fear that paralysed her.

"I am not my mother," she said out loud.

Her confidence temporarily bolstered by the mantra she greeted the pair of prospective vendors outside the house for sale. She straightened the jacket of her trouser suit and opened the door to the property. Since her father had left and even more so since the announcement of his upcoming marriage to his new partner, Ginny's mother had increasingly been missing her real-estate commitments. She had narrowly avoided being fired. Ginny had discovered this by reading an opened letter to the effect a couple of weeks earlier. When she realised her mother's reliability had not improved she had taken it upon herself to pick up the slack. She had successfully arranged for her viewings to be evenings and weekends only, enabling Ginny to attend in her mother's place when necessary.

Her mind returned to her teacher/confidant. Thank goodness for Michelle. She had wanted to tell someone about her and Frankie. Someone that was not her mother. Saying anything to her mother was difficult at this time, worse recently. She should have been able to tell her friends, but strangely felt awkward at the prospect. Would they accept the news with enthusiasm or disapproval – the latter scared her; she needed their friendship, depended on it, like a life jacket in a stormy sea, keeping her afloat when she felt as though she were constantly near to drowning; lost in a sea of mother and work responsibilities with no father in sight to cling to or swim to for safety.

Out of the group of four friends it was an unspoken expectation that Sasha would be the first to have sex, and that they would all compare notes afterwards. Ginny smiled at the thought - a rare genuine show of emotion rather than the false perkiness she had been taking great effort to convey the last couple of weeks. She certainly did not feel comfortable in sharing notes now. Was this what growing up meant, she wondered; having less frivolous, surreal conversations with your friends?

Her mind flicked back to the most recent conversation they had all had together, before heading off to the dance studio that evening. They had all gathered at Sasha's apartment. Their self-appointed, unopposed, leader had announced she had booked an appointment to see Michelle to discuss their sex intentions. Ginny smiled again as it clicked in her head that Fanny must have found out, hence the pre-emptive sex education lesson. Of course, the older woman must not be aware of who Michelle was going to speak to otherwise she would not have opted to carpet-bomb all the students rather than zero in on just Sasha.

"You booked an appointment," Boo had said. Her voice and expression had been a wonderful example of dead pan. Despite her often outward expression Boo was seldom a pushover for the absurd. Sasha, on the other hand, frequently missed subtle nuances of expression.

"Yes, I did. I wrote it down in my diary," she had responded with genuine-felt seriousness.

"In ink?" Boo prodded again.

"Yes. In black ink, not blue."

"Of course. Blue ink is too frivolous. Blue is for boyfriend dates and sleepovers."

"Exactly."

"I use green," Melanie piped up. Ginny was not sure whether she had been playing along with Boo or if she was equally convinced about the distinction of colour inks denoting the level of solemnity.

"What does that say about me?" Melanie had asked.

"That you're carefree and take nothing seriously," Sasha had offered bluntly, but not meant unkindly.

"Cool."

"What ink do you use?" Boo had asked Ginny, then "Are you OK? You look tired."

Ginny had replied she was fine but, yes she was tired. She had followed it up with a smile which she hoped her eyes had mirrored. "I don't use ink. I note down appointments in my Blackberry - it also comes in handy to note down house viewings."

"Hi, mom I'm home," Ginny announced hopefully, closing the front door behind her. No response.

She walked through the hall and into the lounge-dining room and headed for the kitchen. Her mother suddenly appeared from the hall behind her. "You're not to use the kitchen, I've just finished cleaning it for your father."

Ginny recovered quickly from being half scared to death. "Hi, mom did you have a good day? It went well this evening; I think I may have secured us a sale."

"You mustn't mess up the kitchen as your father will be displeased. You know how he always likes a clean house when he gets back from a hard day."

Her daughter inwardly sighed. This was a recent development, which she appreciated was a poor choice of words. Her mother had started to occasionally think her father was going to return any minute, when there was absolutely no chance of that happening. Ginny had initially thought nothing of it. She had after all created her own fantasy of her father coming home and gained great comfort from it, so why deny her mother the same self-deceit. But it was now becoming a regular feature of her behaviour, replacing the usual vitriol she extended to every thought, word action and expression she normally elicited. Whilst such behaviour had been distressing and embarrassing and, she felt ashamed to admit, tiring, the newly-evidenced delusional manner was now causing her concern. She wanted to cry in fact. She knew her mother was not putting on an act to comfort her daughter into thinking her father would return – she seldom was that thoughtful. She knew her mother truly believed in her fantasy. Ginny was scared. What should she do? It occupied her daily thoughts to the point of distraction. Except when she thought of Frankie; one beautiful distraction to replace another; a beautiful release.

"I'm hungry, Mom," she finally voiced. "I promise not to make a mess. Why don't you go to bed, it's late." It **was **late. What kind of person asks for a house viewing at 10pm, she thought. "Dad is more likely to spend the night at a motel now; you know how much he dislikes driving at night after being away." Was it right to play along rather than rip off the reality plaster?

"You're probably right," her mother conceded, then turned round and walked to the stairs without saying goodnight.

Ginny watched her disappear up the stairs and heard the bedroom door close. "Mom, last week I slept with the most beautiful boy in school," she confided heartfelt to the empty room. "It was so..." she did not finish.

She entered the kitchen and had to admit it was exceptionally presentable. She caught her reflection in the refrigerator door. "My goodness, that's a shiny fridge," she uttered out loud and giggled at the absurdity. She then noticed the dark shadows under her eyes. She looked away and plunged into the safe haven that was the thought of being with Frankie. Great, she thought I lasted three minutes without thinking about him.

She longed for his touch, his caress, the feel of his fingers down her spine, the gentle breath on her neck. Anything to replace selling houses, to replace shiny kitchens and... She was becoming obsessed; reverting to him at the slightest hint that reality might swamp her. She suddenly looked through the open kitchen door to the base of the stairs. Again, she found herself asking was this how her mother felt? She felt herself tremble; a cold sweat manifest itself.

"I am not my mother." She turned away from the door and caught her reflection again in the refrigerator. She cried this time, albeit silently so as not to disturb anyone.

Cozette approached her brother from behind where he sat. She etched her forefinger along his neck as she walked round to face him. "Hello, lover," she announced her presence impishly. Frankie looked up at her, a blank expression on his face. "Tell me, how is our tiny dancer?"

"I don't know," Frankie responded without emotion. "You told me to leave her alone for a few days. To judge her reaction."

"So I did, just checking." She sat next to him, a smile on her face. "Oh do cheer up," she chided. "You're not still annoyed that it was Ginny rather than Sasha who responded to your charms, are you? I told you, Sasha was more into Gothic and wannabe rebels than dreamers. Besides, Ginny is proving quite entertaining and we'll be gone in a couple of weeks when papa has to move on again."

"Does that mean you want me to talk to her?"

"No, leave it another day or two. I'm interested in seeing how she progresses."

"Tell me why I shudder inside every time we begin this dangerous game?" Frankie asked.

Cozette smiled. "Because you secretly enjoy it, except when it's my turn to be the seducer." She kissed him on the lips suggestively. "My petite Valmont."

"That must be it." As if that was a cue, he rose and looked down at her. "Of course, you know very few of the players come out well in that story."

Cozette stood up and linked her arm in his and led him in the direction of their home.

to be continued


	2. Chapter 2

Sunday morning. Late morning. Ginny had laid in later than she normally did. She was tired from working the night before and hungry due to missing out on supper; for fear of spoiling the shiny kitchen! She draped her legs over the side of her bed, massaged her eyes and scratched her head. Yawned. Today would be a good day, she told herself. She was always 'Positive Virginia' in the morning. Pollyanna Thompson.

She went through her normal morning ritual: cleaning her teeth, showering, getting dressed, unlocking the padlock on her bedroom door. Every time she unlocked she received a shock of memory of the last time her mother had come into her room. She had been angry and had thrown an empty bottle of bourbon at her as she lay sleeping. Fortunately it had only hit her back which had been under the duvet at the time, so she had felt very little. Apart from, that is, the grey-hair-inducing fright of being hit by a thrown bottle and the sleep-depriving prospect of it or worse happening again. She could not recall what had prompted the assault that time as it was the first physical, as opposed to verbal, manifestation of her mother's current state of mind in relation to the announcement of her father's upcoming re-marriage. She could face, or at least brace herself against her mother's behaviour elsewhere, but her room was her sanctuary.

She walked out onto the landing; two other bedrooms and the family bathroom as well as her own room led off this, with the stairs almost directly opposite her bedroom. Her mother called her from what had been her parents' room. Ginny steeled herself and entered. She found her lone parent amidst a shop-changing-room of dresses and outfits; some hanging from the fitted wardrobes, some strewn on the bed and armchair. Her mother was currently wearing a dinner dress she had not seen for a long time – she seldom threw out clothes.

"What do you think of this one?" She asked her daughter as though she had been there all along and party to a continuing conversation.

"A special occasion?" Ginny ventured. She knew one was not on the horizon, apart from the never-to-be-mentioned forthcoming wedding, so she was already prepared for the response.

"Why does there have to be a special occasion?" Was the acid reply. "I just want to look nice for your father when he gets back. You can't wear jeans and baggy jumpers all day and expect to receive love and affection back from your partner."

Ginny ached to make a Stepford Wife comment and mourned the wasted efforts of dead suffragettes. She longed to correct her mother that her jeans and baggy jumper had bagged her the most beautiful boy in school thank you very much, with very little effort, but instead pointed to a dress hanging up. "What about that one?"

"Fool girl, no wonder you're still single." She started to unzip the dress she was wearing.

"That one?" Ginny tried again with similar false enthusiasm.

"No! Just go away, Ginny. You're of no use to me, as usual. Just go out and do whatever meaningless thing you normally do."

Ginny told herself that she was relieved to be dismissed. Glad that she was not reminded to do her homework. Happy that she was not told to be back before dark. Pleased that she was not lectured on the wisdom of preserving one's purity for the right person to come along. She told herself that it meant she had the freedom to do what she wanted; take risks without the fear of punishment; go anywhere, do anything. But why did she not feel happy? Did Sasha feel this way? Did she long to be told to do something; not to do something?

She stood again on the landing and weighed up options; looking at, putting to one side, discarding then reconsidering each one in a mental desktop. With some determination, tinged with bone-numbing fear, she decided on what she would do and strode down the stairs at a pace she hoped would prevent her from re-thinking and diverting to a different course.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Ginny stood on the porch to Frankie's house. On the third attempt at charging herself with sufficient courage, she rang the door bell. She stood still, her arms behind her back, her hands linked. Her eyes surveyed the front door; its panels; the downward paint streaks on the wood; the slightly tarnished bronze numberplate; the spyhole – she looked away, then down at her feet, self conscious that someone may be looking at her through the tiny glass tube. She was shaken suddenly by the sound of the latch being released from the other side of the door. She took one step back, part in shock and part in fear that she was making a huge mistake and should run. But what if she had already been seen through the spyhole? She stood her ground.

Frankie appeared at the door. He wore his standard loose t-shirt and jeans and long hair, the latter of which he pushed back with his hand. Ginny felt a cold goose-bump sensation of relief that he did not show any sign of dismay at her appearing at his house. In truth he also did not appear overjoyed, but small mercies.

"Hello, Ginny," he spoke. "How are you?"

"I'm very well, thank you for asking," she replied in her best kindergarten-taught way. The pause that followed was several breaths longer than the preceding brief volley of conversation. "Did you receive my note last week?" She ventured eventually and felt silly straight away. Embarrassed at the actual note giving in the first place, annoyed that she had brought the subject up when there was the faint possibility it had been lost in transit, or forgotten, or she had perhaps dreamt of writing it.

"Yes. Yes I did. It was... interesting." The pause between the last two words was surely not as long as it appeared.

"Interesting," she repeated nodding her head slightly. "I am happy with that."

"Was that the effect you were hoping it would have?" Frankie asked, a slight smile breaking his normally emotionless face.

"I was actually going for 'heartfelt', but considering I had also feared it would be ridiculed and published, I consider 'interesting' a result."

This time he did smile. "Do you want to come in?"

"Yes, that would be nice, thank you very much." She winced inwardly.

It was not a big house; one storied, three bedroomed – one for him and one for Cozette and the other for their parents, who were frequently away. The front door led straight into the lounge with the kitchen-diner leading off from the back and another door leading to a hallway where the bedrooms and family bathroom were. She had memorised the layout from the first time she had been there. Thinking back to that night made her blush and brought forth emotions she was pretty sure she should be ashamed of but was not in the slightest. Damn it but wasn't he going to start at least one conversation? "Frankie," she caved in and started. He turned towards her and once again she flinched slightly. "I need to know where I stand...where we stand." He expressed a mix of curiosity and questioning. "After last week, where do we stand?" She expanded, despite feeling it was unnecessary. "Am I your girlfriend?" She had been a split second away from saying 'lover' and came over in a cold sweat at the near miss of embarrassing herself; the note all over again.

"I'm not really into the whole boy-girlfriend thing," he responded. "Unless someone is married I don't think commitment is necessary and labels denote an obligation."

"It's good to know you are dedicated to your whole bohemian approach to life," Ginny offered although she was inwardly scratching her eyes out at the supreme crassness of his words. She was also stifling a feeling of panic that her emotional lifeboat was sinking. She did not know what she would do when she left his house.

"Do you want to leave?" Frankie asked suddenly.

"No," she replied quickly as if fearing the option of the alternative would expire in seconds. "No, I...I would rather stay."

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/ -

Ginny nestled her body against Frankie's; her head on his chest; the warmth of his body and his heartbeat offering a sense of security. His left arm was draped round her and he gently stroked her arm. There had been silence for several minutes as they lay there.

"You're quiet," he announced unexpectedly causing her to flinch slightly. She must stop doing that.

"**I'm **quiet says Mr Quiet," she countered. "I haven't heard a word from you for over a week." She only half meant to chide him and followed it up with a gentle tap on his chest. She welcomed the commencement of dialogue as, since they had relaxed back after making love, her mind had started on its self-tortuous route of negative thoughts; reality sound-bites drip drip dripping.

Her mind had also drifted to Sasha; she would be with Michelle about now discussing the pros and cons of starting a relationship with Roman, and acting as proxy for the rest of the gang. She inwardly smiled and was insanely curious as to how and who would open the debate. Poor Michelle must have been dreading this afternoon, which was not so bad since Sasha's enthusiasm was high enough for both of them. She then thought of Boo. Darling Boo. Currently taking birth control pills but with no intention of having sex with Carl until the night before graduation, or possibly the night before the night before, but still a whole year away. Mel was currently unattached, but everyone knew she was going to go out with Dez; everyone except Mel, that is. And, finally, here **she** was. Lying completely naked under the covers alongside a guy also completely naked. Completely? As oppose to what, she laughed to herself – a little bit naked?

She felt good in Frankie's arms despite knowing this time was not like the last time they had been together. The sex had still been good. Better even, since she now knew what he wanted; what she wanted. But the feeling of contentment was not as good as before. Why? Why was it not as wonderful? The build up to committing to the First Time had been so gloriously exciting; each step closer had been goose-bumped and had given her stomach butterflies. The longing for this second evening had been exquisitely painful. Why was it all so different now? She knew of course; Frankie had no feelings for her. Truthfully, she had none for him, not now, which was just as well; unrequited love would be the last straw when she already felt overladen. But she also knew she would return again, if he let her; the release it gave her was still beautiful even if the afterglow was lacking.

She remembered their first 'date'. They had sat at a small table in a coffee shop; not Sebastian's, but what everyone called the 'other place'. That afternoon Frankie had been very chatty, almost verbose by comparison to his normal enigmatic tendency. She had been transfixed. She could quote him word for word and did so then in her head.

"_There is nothing really as good as what we are doing now," he had declared whilst looking at her directly. "Looking at each other, working out the colour of the other's eyes, shuffling for leg space underneath the table. Humans have touch, sight, sound and smell," he had continued with each word perfectly spaced and carefully spoken in his deep tone. "We are living in the now; no electronic devices to distract us from our true senses." _

"Hello lovers," Cozette announced herself from the bedroom door. Ginny was dragged from her revelry. She screamed in surprise and flinched back from her hold of Frankie, sitting up slightly and remembering in time to cover herself. "Hello, Ginny," the sister said with a broad smile on her face.

"Hello," Ginny responded still wide eyed in shock.

Cozette re-entered the hallway. "I'm making coffee," she shouted from outside. "Can I bring you some in?"

"That would be lovely, thank you," Ginny replied in a level tone which belied the blinding uncertainty she was feeling. Uncharted territory was scary. "Actually I'll take mine in the lounge." She swore she could hear Cozette giggling.

"You should let her wait on us," Frankie broke his silence. She looked at him, catching a tone of annoyance in his voice.

She retrieved her clothes from the floor and self-consciously dressed, not sure why she felt that way. She did not feel any shame. In fact she was overwhelmed by a sense of maturity; achievement even. She had taken the initiative today. Yet she felt consumed by embarrassment at being 'caught' and felt isolated in a strange house with people she did not know well enough to open up to. She tidied her hair and straightened her jeans and baggy jumper and headed to the lounge.

She found Cozette relaxed on the sofa, three cups of coffee arranged on a low table dividing the space between the seat and two armchairs. Ginny wanted to escape. He stomach churned with butterflies. "Should I...should I take Frankie's in to him?" She asked awkwardly.

Cozette was clearly amused and Ginny was torn between wanting to slap her or curl up and pretend she was some place else. "You could, if you want," was the response she got. "You could take yours in as well." Ginny sat down quickly and Cozette laughed. "I'm sorry," she too obviously lied. "I always wonder at the reaction from Frankie's conquests." Ginny felt murderous and horrified combined. "I did wonder if you would get together again after the first time."

Frankie had obviously told her. Did brothers actually speak to their sisters about such things? She would have to speak to Mel on the subject, that is when she figured out a subtle way to broach the subject. She hid her conflicted thoughts behind the cup as she sipped her coffee. "Do you mind me being here?" She managed to ask. She purposely did not specifically ask if she minded her dating her brother.

"Of course not. I'm glad he found someone here. He can be too remote and insular for his own good, and having a partner in each town we visit always improves his mood."

Ginny was not naïve to think Cozette was unaware of what she was doing. It was all too obvious. This did not, however, prevent her from being caught unawares by the behaviour, even if it justified the fact she had never warmed to the girl since her arrival in town. She was relieved to discover that she did not care what Cozette felt – or thought, said or did, or if she dropped dead on the spot to be honest. But she did care about Frankie, strangely, and it was this that dictated her response. Ginny drained her coffee. "I...I better be going," she said and stood up.

"Please don't go on my part," Cozette offered.

"That's OK. I have chores to do and an essay to write for tomorrow." Which was true on both counts and which she had only just remembered. It was going to be a difficult evening. Ginny walked to the front door. "Say goodbye to Frankie for me." She opened the door, exited and closed it behind her. She hoped she had only looked uncomfortable – at being discovered, rather than beaten by not-so-veiled insinuations. She hoped she did not look scared. Not scared because she did not know what to do, but the opposite; she knew full well what she was going to do; she would see Frankie again, Cozette be damned. The fact she that she had declared it to herself without mulling it over, without making a list of pros and cons and formulating a plan using an Excel spreadsheet was the scary part, although the new-found courage and determination - Ginny 2.0, was quite invigorating. Cozette be damned and, yet, thank you Cozette.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-*** ***

Cozette entered Frankie's room. Her brother was still lying in bed, leaning back on the head board, his arms behind his head. She unceremoniously took off her top and peeled off her skirt as she walked to Ginny's side of the bed.

"I take it Ginny has left," Frankie stated rather than asked.

"Yes. I think I may have upset our little swan with my barely-concealed lack of tact." She pulled open the covers and climbed in alongside him.

"Isn't that influencing the game a little?"

"Like inviting her over despite me telling you to wait a while?"Cozette countered. "When it's your turn to be the seducer I pull the strings, remember."

"So you did it out of spite against me."

"No, of course not." She nestled herself against his body. "I did it because she was obviously uncomfortable and it was fun to twist the arrow a bit."

"So you told her everything?"

"What, about the two of us? That we're not blood-related? No, that would have been counter-productive and awkward considering we still have some before we leave." She raised her head and looked up at him. "You were naughty to have jumped the gun like you did."

"I didn't," was all he said in response. His half-sister gave him a suitably curious expression; he always loved surprising her. "She came here unprompted."

Cozette was genuinely fascinated. "Really?" She expressed failing to hide her interest. "Now Sasha wouldn't have done that. Goodness, the little minx."

"Don't call her that." Frankie reacted.

Cozette considered her brother's comment. Whilst it had not had any heat of anger behind it, the speed of his response failed to conceal some emotion behind it. She felt concerned and fascinated at the same time.

to be continued.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N **

**I apologise for the delay in submitting Chapter 3. This was the only chapter where I had no notes to work from – I have extensive notes and drafts for subsequent chapters (possibly three more after this one). I was also having trouble writing US teenage-girl banter, being as I am British, male and old enough to have forgotten what it was like to be a teenager – what is this thing called Twitter :). If I take as long to submit Chapter four you could always visit my Buffy stories...**

Chapter 3

The four dancers congregated round one of the lunch tables in the school yard, carrying various edible products and drinks. Sasha had a Tupperware container laden with home-made quiche and home-made apple pie and personally squeezed orange juice. The others peered into the box and kept their eyes on it as the owner lowered it to the table and broke the spell. Sasha's lunch was of daily interest to the other girls. They had gathered, however, to discuss their friend's meeting with Michelle the day before; the sex talk as they had all christened it.

Sasha took out her freshly squeezed orange juice and placed the bottle on the table. This was followed by the quiche, on a paper plate with actual knife and fork – not plastic. The pie followed, then an additional surprise of sliced cucumber and tomato, which had been hidden beneath.

"Oh for goodness sake, Sasha," Mel broke. "Are you going to start or do I have to get Boo to hold you down whilst I tickle you into submission?"

Sasha sat straight and prim-like, her hands linked, her chin up. "I met with Michelle yesterday evening as planned.

"Who started the conversation?" Ginny asked suddenly and looked sheepish when Sasha glared at her. "Sorry, but I have been insanely curious."

"I put forward our considered plans to have sex with our boyfriends..."

"I would like to make it clear I have no plans," Boo spoke up raising her hand.

"I don't have a boyfriend at the moment," Mel added. "Nor does Ginny."

"Excuse me," Ginny objected. "I am friendly with Frankie."

"You are taking drawing lessons," Mel corrected.

"Hey!" Sasha butted in to their butting in. Mel smiled, Boo looked up at Sasha guiltily, Ginny gave a wide-eyed look. "As I was saying, I put forward our...I mentioned our conversation to Michelle." The others kept silent and waited for her to continue. "Her first response was to query if they were just plans, as though we may have already jumped the gun, which was odd as why would I arranged the meeting?"

"She's still thinking about that condom she found in the changing room," Mel suggested.

Sasha nodded. "That must be it. I'd forgotten about that. Anyway, she then said we should make sure that our boyfriends were serious about wanting to be our boyfriends as they would likely just say yes to sex regardless."

"Carl wouldn't do that," Boo objected.

"Nor would Roman," Sasha agreed. "Mind you, I would make it clear beforehand."

"So would I," Mel added. "If I had a boyfriend, that is."

"Did she tell you not to have sex?" Boo asked.

"No...I mean she didn't say 'go ahead, with my blessing' or anything. Certainly she didn't encourage me, but she never lectured abstinence."

"And that was it?" Mel again.

"Well there was a lengthy walk down memory lane on her part which was very embarrassing. Who knew the 90s were so... interesting?"

"You're quiet, Ginny," Boo suddenly said. It was not that sudden, but to Ginny it was like being jolted with electricity.

"It's...it's all very interesting," she managed.

Lunch and the conversation continued until the bell rang for afternoon lessons.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

"Frankie? It's Ginny...are you free this evening?...would you pick me up from my place?...thank you."

She went out on to the landing and looked in on her mother, who lay on the bed, facing away from the door. "Mom... are you going out to work this evening?" She received no reply.

Frankie arrived 30 minutes later. Ginny was waiting for him on the porch, the front door closed behind her. She had a ruck sack on the ground to her left and a paper carrier to her right. She donned a smile and walked down the pathway to the car.

"How did you get that cut above your eye?" Frankie asked peering out of the window of his car.

On impulse she raised her left hand to the cut and Frankie failed to notice the brief haunted look she failed to hold off. "I scratched myself when I was brushing my hair," she offered as an explanation, a smile returning.

"What's in the bag?"

"Food."

"Food? You're going to feed me?"

"Yes," she replied smiling. "After the First Time, you get a thank-you note. After the Second Time, you get fed." She actually felt that was funny. "I thought we could go for a picnic." She looked up at the fading light and shrugged. "Or we could park somewhere secluded and eat in the car." Frankie still regarded her oddly. "Don't get too enthused will you. It's only sandwiches, ...but there's also cake."

Frankie walked round the car and opened the passenger car door, which impressed Ginny – and shocked her, which spoilt the gesture, but points for the move nonetheless. "Are there actually any secluded bits in Paradise?" He asked as he lowered himself into his seat and shut his door.

Ginny conceded the aim was wishful thinking. In Paradise there were no nooks and crannies; love lanes or anywhere else to not be seen. Furthermore, if you were seen, you were recognised. Everyone more or less knew everyone, or knew someone who would recognise a description if given to them by someone who did not actually know them personally. "We could park in the trees just outside of town," she suggested, with a perky eagerness. Frankie started the engine and pulled away from the house.

The journey was silent. Apart from, that is, the sound of Frankie's no-so-healthy car engine which Ginny felt should be put out of its misery before it caused any. The driver parked off road in a small clearing beneath the pines that encircled most of the town. It was a good spot as the trees thinned out in front to afford a view of the town. Lights were coming on as evening was drawing in.

Ginny leant forward to better observe the view, then sat back in the seat. "This is nice," she said with apparent enthusiasm. "If I ever get to leave...if I ever decide to leave Paradise this view will be imprinted."

"You plan to leave? Where to?" Frankie asked curious.

"New York, hopefully," Ginny replied turning her face and body towards him. "I want to attend dance school and learn acting, singing, appear in a Broadway show, or off Broadway, or anything really."

"So you don't want to stay in Bedford Falls? The little town too small for the little girl."

She ignored but did not miss the remark. "There's nothing to say you can't have a wonderful life in a big city." Her audience remained silent. "So, what do you plan to do when you grow up?" She asked trying to inject some humour.

"I have no idea."

"You could find something that utilises your drawing; comics or Japanese manga perhaps. Or advertising."

"Perhaps."

He was not going to open up; play along with her cheerfulness. Perhaps he knew it was an act. Perhaps he did not want to be there; had agreed out of charity for his little dancer. She stared straight ahead. She switched off; thought of a brick wall separating her, defending her from the other side. A tear fell from each eye. Then another. Followed by another. Shocked at the unexpectedness she quickly wiped them away. More fell. She was not sobbing or weeping. Not emoting over something specific. But the tears would not stop. She squeezed her palms into her eyes to stem the flow. "I'm sorry...I don't know what's come over me," she said to Frankie, although without turning her head to him. She finally stemmed the flow and faced him, a weak smile. "There, all better now." Although she turned her head to her right and stared out of the passenger window.

The bastard still remained silent. Ginny wanted to thrash wildly; to hit the dashboard, break the glass, scream one long banshee cry of frustration to the world and its maker until she was hoarse, then thrash again. Her heart was beating fast with just the thought of doing it. "Don't you have any thoughts about all this?" She asked, desperate for some recognition that she was not alone in her confusion.

"I don't know what you were crying about."

"I mean about us. Don't be obtuse!" Although perhaps she should have clarified. "Am I just your Paradise Playmate?"

Frankie looked as though he had discovered the cure for cancer. "Cozette upset you yesterday."

"She pissed me off!" Ginny flung back. She closed her eyes and took two deep breaths before opening them again. "...she upset me."

Frankie placed a hand on her face. She leant into the caress, feeling both comforted by it and angry that she felt that way. "You mustn't let my sister get to you. It's the part of our little game she enjoys too much: toying with the emotions of those I choose, when it's my turn to be the player and hers to be the referee..."

"Player an referee!" Ginny swiped his hand away. She slapped him across the face, then started to level several more blows until he held up his arms in defence as she had done that evening to her mother. She eventually stopped raining down on him. "I'm not some piece on a board. I'm not some plaything you can gain points for bedding!" She pleaded for some decency to show.

"I know." He seemed contrite. "You were...are different." Ginny looked at him in disgust; insulted by the platitude, angered at being patronised. "I mean it. I usually get propositioned by vacuous cheerleaders only interested in being seen with me..."

"Cheerleaders have hearts that be broken as well," Ginny threw back at him. "Don't judge by your own standards!"

"I'm sorry," he said weakly.

"Do you even like me?" Ginny asked quietly, all anger exhausted.

"I'm strangely fond of you."

She contemplated losing her temper again. "Strangely? I do have some redeeming qualities, you know. Enough not to make it 'strange' to like me."

"I'm not going to win this argument am I?" He was annoyingly showing confidence again. Ginny kicked the dashboard in frustration. "I'll drive you home," he offered.

Ginny went pale. "I don't want to go home," she said quickly. "I...I don't want to go home," she repeated quietly. It sounded almost like a plea. She looked down at her feet. Frankie failed again to fill the silence. She looked up and towards him. "Are you completely oblivious?" She asked.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

She sat, her back against the rear car seat, her eyes staring ahead and into the darkness outside. She could vaguely discern the trees and the faint glow in the sky of the town. She truly had not planned for this to happen, not here at any rate; later perhaps.

"Are you OK?" Frankie asked from the other side of the seat. Concern again from the Paradise Casanova. "You look...perturbed."

"I've just had sex in the back of a car, so I'm feeling really great about myself right now," she replied sarcastically. "Perhaps we can rent a motel room next time; one cliché deserves another after all." At least then she could take all her clothes off. Having sex with most of her clothes still on somehow felt...seedy. She certainly did not feel she had seen 'paradise by the dashboard light'.

"If you didn't want to...you should have told me." He sounded genuinely contrite.

"I didn't say I didn't want to," she reassured kindly, but her mood shifted again. "I'm not a victim here," she added with a determination in her voice. She reached behind her and grabbed her rucksack from the luggage shelf. "I need you to drive me somewhere, please," she said as she pulled out her carefully-folded work clothes and proceeded to change.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

A meaningful discussion on the pros and cons of teenage sex, followed by a heartfelt conversation then a heartbreaking fight with her mother, followed by teenage sex, followed by an attempt to sell a house to a prospective buyer. Spot the odd one out. And it was still only Monday. If Ginny had kept a diary, today would be a double-pager.

She dragged her ruck sack behind her, occasionally picking it up and swinging it. It was 10.30pm. How can you accurately judge the appearance of a property in the dark? She thought. The fact the house-selling part of the day was on her mind rather than any of the other high-points was not lost on her. To think she had initially thought today would just be the 'sex-talk day' with everything else white noise.

The reason her mind was fixating on selling houses was because she had sold one that evening. That made three in a week, in a recession! Perhaps she had found her vocation. What a scary thought. Surely you were not supposed to know your future as young as 16, and certainly not something as uninspiring as selling houses. When the world is ending and the powers-that-be are deciding which of 'Mother Nature's silver seed' will be allowed to board the silver spaceships she doubted real estate agents would trump doctors, engineers and Google IT consultants. Of course, she could also dance and sing, so perhaps she would get a seat on the deck assigned to artists and entertainers, but then she would likely have to share space with Justin Bieber and One Direction. She shuddered, despite being part of the right demographic. She felt she would prefer to take her chances on the Road carrying the Book of Eli. At least then she would have Viggo Mortenson and Denzil Washington for company. Wow, she thought, if I could bottle my random thoughts I could get drunk on a rainy day.

She opened the front door to her home and stood briefly in the entrance in case she was confronted again by a mad woman seemingly intent on top and tailing each of her days with a new way of breaking her heart or bruising her; literally and emotionally. Feeling safe in the assurance that she was alone Ginny crossed the threshold and closed the door behind her. She dumped her ruck sack on the floor and sought the refuge of the large sofa in the expansive lounge. Was everything actually large or was she just tiny?

People sought quiet moments to reflect; to refresh after a hard day at work or looking after children. Ginny felt robbed. Quiet moments brought the drip drip drip of remembering what had occurred that day. She needed her mind to be occupied; to be distracted. Dancing, idle banter with her friends – both of which required concentration in the moment, were things she cherished. But they also presented long quiet moments where the mind was allowed to wander dangerous places: cliff edges and quicksands.

Being with Frankie was supposed to have been different and it was originally. The glorious build up, the ecstatic first time had been wonderful. Now, she thought, it was just the all-encompassing immersion that only physical intimacy brought that kept her sane. She was scared. This evening had been different. Before they had indulged in their latest bout of sex – she never said 'made love' any more - she had been angry with him. She had admitted to herself that she had no feelings for him whatsoever. He had confessed that she was just another notch on his bedpost and a play-piece in the sibling game he had going with Cozette. Despite everything, she had still sought comfort in his arms – instigated it even; Frankie would have willingly driven her home unsated. She tried to justify her actions by saying she had been desperately unhappy. She had been, truly. Today's confrontation with her mother had been cruelly blessed with hope and despair. She replayed the events of the afternoon in her head. Drip dripping.

She had returned home after school to find her mother sitting on the sofa in tears, a letter in her hand. She had thrown it at her accusingly. Ginny had been genuinely curious as to its contents and was upset at her mother's tears – anger had monopolised Claire Thompson's emotions for so long it was heartbreaking to witness her distress. The letter was a bill from the dressmaker for the ghastly bridesmaid outfit she was going to have to parade in at her father's forthcoming re-marriage.

"I can't believe you are going to that travesty of a ceremony," her mother had cried.

Ginny was immediately struck dumb; hope, all encompassing in its intensity enveloped her. Her mother was accepting the existence of the marriage, which meant she accepted her father was not returning. Despite the heartbreaking nature of the reality, and the obvious distress it was having on her, Ginny was relieved to be out of Oz and back in the black and white of Kansas; out of not-so-Wonderland where crazy mothers sat in waiting for absent husbands to return, whilst the daughter worked to put food on the table and engaged in meaningless sex.

She sat down close to her mother. "You ordered the dress for me," she reasoned, taking her mother's hand in hers. In response her mother had snatched her hand away and levelled several manic uncoordinated blows to Ginny's head and body. Ginny successfully prevented all bar a couple hitting home by holding up her arms defensively until she was able to grasp hold of her mother and pull her into a hug. "I won't go, I wont go," she desperately soothed the older woman.

Claire sat back from her daughter's embrace. "But you want to go."

"I really don't," Ginny countered. "And not just because of the dress, although that is a strong lead." She lowered her face to better look into her mother's eyes. "I only agreed to go so as to be able to see Dad. I...I wanted to see him again. It' s been so long." She felt tears start to roll down her cheeks. It was the first time she had voiced the desire, having previously convinced herself that he was lost to her emotionally.

"He didn't want you to come originally," her mother revealed like an incendiary device, oblivious to the effect it would have on her daughter. Ginny sat back, arms out to stabilise herself from any aftershock she felt. "He thought it would be odd having his teenage daughter from his first marriage attend his second, and with his new wife expecting their first child."

Ginny clasped a hand over her mouth. Stood up. Backed away. The bearer of unwanted news, still unaware of everything except her own misery, unaware of the destruction she had wrought, did not notice her daughter edge backwards away from her, turn and flee upstairs. Ginny ran into her bedroom, the sanctuary she had built for herself. Not stopping, she ran into her bathroom and threw up in the sink.

Having replayed the events, Ginny stood up off the sofa and surrendered to the need to sleep. She ascended the stairs, her left hand gripping each bannister to pull her up to the next step. She reached the top step and was suddenly confronted by her mother. "Mom?" She managed to utter after recovering from the stomach churning initial fright. The subsequent push was only slight.

To be continued.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Ginny stood in her bathroom; taps filling the bath behind her. She had briefly contemplated going to the hospital, but felt sure she had not hit her head in the fall down the stairs. She had not lost consciousness, although she had lain where she landed for several minutes. Shock at the suddenness of the event fought with the actual event itself. Her ribs on her right side hurt like fire, but she felt sure they were only bruised. Not broken. She tried to undo the buttons of her blouse and found her hands were shaking too much. She formed two fists to steady them and succeeded at the second attempt. The shaking was not due to the fall, but instead to the fear-inducing climb back up the stairs, not knowing if her mother was still there waiting to Norman Bates her again.

Lifting her arms to take off the top caused her to wince in pain. She stood for several seconds looking in the mirror as the steam from the hot water misted over. She wiped the glass with her blouse and stared again at the stranger reflected; a ghost of herself. She frowned and for a second thought she saw her old self; the girl who liked modern dance over classical ballet, but enjoyed both; who liked to sing even if she was often too nervous to do so in front of an audience. The bruise on her side was already beginning to reveal itself. She turned away and tested the bath water with her left hand. Satisfied with the temperature and depth she shed the rest of her clothes and climbed in. She lowered herself slowly, relishing the heat inch by inch as the water covered her. When it reached her neck she baptised herself; holding her nose so as not drown by accident. She laughed out loud at the absurdity of dying in the bath having survived the fall. She giggled uncontrollably until the effect it had on her ribs caused her to wince again. She wiped her eyes of the laughter tears and giggled again when she realised her hands were too wet to have any effect. _It's easier to believe in this sweet madness; all this glorious sadness_ she thought-quoted to herself.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Having washed and dried herself, dried and combed her hair, cleaned her teeth and double-checked the padlock on her door was set, she approached her bed. Sleep was the second-best option for achieving oblivion, but she had already indulged in the first in the back seat of a car. It would be wonderful to have Frankie alongside her all night, but she pulled back her duvet and climbed in alone. She closed her eyes and, despite her mind working overtime to deprive her of sleep; interrogating her and drip drip dripping events, she eventually succumbed. She was not afraid of dreaming. Dreams would fly the moment she opened her eyes. They were just riddles; ghosts from corners of her life that could not harm her.

Two hours later she woke up screaming and remembered everything.

That was not the reason, however, that she found herself the following evening standing on Frankie's porch. She knew she would be there. She wanted to be there. There was a need as well; an overpowering need to be healed, to be desired; to be redeemed of whatever she had done wrong to incur the dislike of her parents; their indifference, which was worse. But a large part of her honestly wanted the intimacy of entangled bodies. It felt good, damn it. Cozette be damned.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Ginny lay alongside Frankie; her head resting on his body. He was so beautiful; a modern Lord Byron – did that make her a modern Lady Caroline Lamb, turning up at his door uninvited, unrepentant? She traced the fingers of one hand in a circular motion on his chest. It seemed like a natural thing to do; to show contentment and gentle affection. She wished she could say she **was** content. She wished she could say she felt affection for him. But if she could not tell the truth to him she was certainly not going to lie to herself. Their lovemaking had been more intense this time, rather than the gentle act of exploration she had felt when they first got together nearly two weeks ago. Seemingly an age had gone by in between encounters. Where she had initially thought love for the most beautiful boy in school could make her life less unbearable, she now was content to settle for physical release. She would have been blissfully happy if Frankie loved her and would return it with a joy in her heart. _I may as well try and catch the wind_ she quoted to herself. He clearly did not love her and she did not care, as long as they could still meet like this. A temporary release from the real world no longer needed to be beautiful, just a release.

"We can't do this again," Frankie stated suddenly. He sat up, dislodging Ginny and reached for his t-shirt draped over a bed side cabinet. He levered the shirt over his head and pulled it down his chest, all the time failing to look at his partner recovering.

"Why not?" Were the first words Ginny could utter. She sat up with the duvet held to her chest.

"Because this is not fun any more."

"Funny ha ha or funny peculiar?" Ginny asked acidly. "It hasn't been fun for a while, so why end it now? Has your sister issued fresh instructions?"

"Half sister," Frankie corrected.

Ginny was suitably confused and surprised at the revelation, but undaunted. "That still isn't a reason for us to..."

"We are more than siblings...half siblings."

"What does that mean..." The penny dropped. She felt sick – not because of the facts just revealed, but because of the impact they would have on her. "That doesn't change anything," she clung on. "I know you don't love her. I see it in your eyes every time her name is mentioned. You're tired of the game." She desperately wanted him to turn and face her. "You... you said yesterday you were strangely fond of me."

"That's enough, Ginny!" He still did not face her.

Ginny draped her legs over her side of the bed and stared at the wall opposite. "I don't know what to do," she intoned out loud, but to herself. "I don't know what to do."

Frankie misinterpreted the words as being meant for him. "You need to enter the real world."

Slapping her would have had a lesser effect, such was the impact of his words. They sobered her thoughts though. She turned round. He had assumed a relaxed posture leaning against the headboard. "You waited until after we made love to tell me all this," she accused.

"Made love?" He mimicked. "We had sex, and yes there is a difference."

Was that the problem? She thought. Had she come across like all the others he had seduced as part of his game? Was she like Cozette to him? She chose anger instead. "So, what was tonight then? Were you gifting the little blond girl one last night of passion, or perhaps you had an itch and Cozette wasn't available." He remained silent, although the uncaring demeanour he had obviously been trying to convey was not perfected. Ginny chose to interpret the cracks in the veneer as pity. Whilst she was desperately scared of what this would all mean to her carefully-crafted fantasy, she was bolstered by sufficient anger not to break down in front of him. She stood up, uncaring that she was still naked, and reached for her clothes. She methodically re-dressed without turning round.

"I'll drive you home," Frankie offered.

"Seriously?" Ginny responded incredulous. "That would be a special kind of hell, wouldn't it? I'll walk, thank you."

"But it's pouring with rain."

"Then I'll get wet." She walked from the bedroom and the internal hallway and out the front door into the rain drenched front yard. Another evening with Frankie had ended badly when it had shown great promise. She felt like she was living a feel-bad Groundhog Day.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

She was quickly soaked to the skin, but stood regardless as surplus water flowed off her. She so wanted to be some place else and searched the faces of each person who passed her for anyone she knew. She knew there was no one trying to find her; no one coming to take her home. Even though she didn't want to go home, she wanted someone to take her hand, to take her somewhere; somewhere new and different. If a stranger had pulled up and offered her that she would have taken his hand without question. After all, she reasoned, no one wants to be alone. She looked up at a street light; an artificial moon with streaks of rain slanting across the glare it made. Nothing was going right; everything was a mess. Why was everything so confusing?

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

On hearing her door buzzer Sasha picked herself up from the floor where she had been sitting cross-legged. She walked to her front door opened it without looking through her peep hole first. "My God, Ginny you're soaked," she uttered looking down at her bedraggled friend. "What on earth were you doing in the rain?"

Ginny raised her eyebrows innocently. She outstretched her arms and swung left and right. "Singing," she offered. Sasha showed her exasperation; Ginny was drenched. Had she been dipped into a river she would have looked drier. "Can I come in, please?"

"Of course, but stand by the door for a sec whilst I get a towel. You can then change into some of my clothes, although I don't think anything will actually fit you...perhaps a bath robe."

"Anything will do actually," she blew upwards as water dripped down her forehead into her eyes. She shivered despite the warmth of the apartment. Sasha ran to her bathroom. Ginny stood where she was placed and wrapped her arms around her body. She shivered again and shook her head. Her long hair fanned out and droplets spread in an arc around her creating splatters on the wallpaper. She looked in the direction of the bathroom sheepishly. She heard Sasha call her and followed her voice.

"Here," her friend said holding up a bathrobe as she entered the room. "It'll hang on you, but should be enough until your clothes dry. You can dry yourself on the towel there."

Ginny smiled thank you and waited for Sasha to leave the room, but discovered quickly that was not the plan. As such, and not being shy, she shed her clothes for the second time that evening. She took off her top first and regretted it straight away.

"My God, Ginny how did you get that bruise," Sasha bent down and pressed the blue-mauve discolouring on her friend's skin.

"Ouch, Sasha," Ginny exclaimed on impulse. "It feels as bad as it looks, I assure you."

"How did you get it?" She suddenly put her hand to her mouth. "Frankie didn't do that, did he?" She looked horrified.

"No!" Ginny was genuinely shocked at Sasha's train of thought. "No, it wasn't him. I...I was standing on a chair fixing a light bulb and the chair gave way," she lied easily even though she had not rehearsed it. It felt infinitely better than the answer she had given Frankie earlier, even if the latter had been closer to the truth.

Sasha appeared satisfied with the explanation and took a towel and started to dry Ginny's hair vigorously. "Fool," she uttered. She stopped drying and looked down at her "You could have broken a rib or something."

"Yes, Mom." Sasha left Ginny alone to finish. She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror and flinched. "Good grief, Sasha," she whispered to herself as she surveyed the mess she had made of her hair. She picked up a hairbrush from a shelf and pulled it through the tangles until she was more presentable, as much as the too-large bathrobe allowed at any rate.

She walked out of the bathroom and down the hall to the living room and found Roman standing by Sasha. Embarrassment flounced any feeling of guilt she had at having obviously disturbed their evening, although it was a close match. "I am so sorry," she was distraught now. "I didn't realise you were here...that you were both..."

"The look on your face," Sasha was amused. Roman only now showed some response to the situation, which he felt was understandable being, as he was, presented with a bath-robed young woman. He looked to his 'girlfriend' – he had decided that they were boy-girl friend, if only in his own head. "Ginny thought the two of us were going to make out before she turned up."

He raised his eyebrows and spoke in a dead pan voice. "How do you know we weren't?

"Oh I would know and so would you," she turned to Ginny "and it wasn't going to be tonight."

Roman clasped a hand to his heart in mock-dismay at the news whilst Sasha was not looking. Ginny saw it and giggled. She was still guilt-stricken though. "I...I can still leave."

Sasha chided her. "You will do no such thing. Your clothes are in the drier and will take an hour at least and you look exhausted. Are you hungry? We have some leftovers in the oven."

Roman raised his hand. "I can recommend the chicken."

Ginny was starving. "I'm actually tired," she replied instead. She truly was. "...reeeealy tired." Her eyes became glassy and she quickly swept a tear before it fell. Sasha noticed it though. She took her sister-friend to one side. Once again, she leant down motherly and asked quietly what was wrong. "I broke up with Frankie," she answered in a whisper like a child confessing.

Sasha stood up straight and stepped back, Ginny rocked back slightly at the sudden movement. "Roman," she heard her friend say. "Could I ask you to leave, please."

Ginny was contrite and looked from one to the other. "No. No you don't have to." She looked to Sasha. "Please...It's not necessary."

Roman was not oblivious to the situation. "Don't worry," he directed at the smaller girl, with a friendly smile of encouragement. "Besides, that bath robe...a man can only have so much restraint." Ginny wanted to laugh again despite feeling the heat of her own blushing. He looked to Sasha and felt proud her scowl did not fell him on the spot. "I'll see you at school tomorrow," he blew Sasha a kiss which made even the always-pale girl also blush. Ginny was torn with guilt at splitting the partners up that evening and a deep desire to know what advice Michelle would have given Sasha right now.

To be continued.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N -contains one swear word and... a poorly written dance dream sequence!**

Chapter 5

Ginny approached the entrance to the dance studio; the events of the previous three days occupied her consciousness. They had caused her mind to wander during that day's lessons. However, she had now succeeded in dimming the lights and lowering the volume until her thoughts were just ambient noise as she concentrated on the matter at hand. She needed to apologise to Michelle for missing dance this week and that she would have to do so for the rest of the week as well; her ribs still hurt. She was partly glad she had such a good reason since she also could not face the prospect of being in the same room as Cozette and voicing that would be...awkward. She had chosen until well after this evening's lesson to approach her confessor in the hope that everyone else had gone home.

She looked through the glass door and saw Sasha talking with Michelle. Sasha often took extra lessons, but she was changed into her ordinary clothes. She entered the studio tentatively. Sasha noticed her friend. She gave her a wave which caused Michelle to look round.

"Hello, Ginny," their tutor welcomed with a smile.

Ginny noticed how much Michelle's smile conveyed friendship rather than the motherliness most teachers normally gave out. Not the stern-but-friendly glare that Madam Fanny emitted, which everyone actually loved about her, but a you-can-tell-me-anything-and-I will-not-judge kind of trust. She wondered whether Michelle practised at being how she was, or if it came naturally. Moreover was she constantly frustrated that they always went to her as a surrogate mother instead.

Ginny remembered her mother, in one of her more lucid if not friendly moments, commenting on her dance tutor to Sasha's mom. She had said there 'were a lot of these middle-aged single types – Michelle was not middle aged! - shipwrecked by every kind of catastrophe. The Real Housewives of Paradise had insisted something must have happened in her life. In their mind a woman with no child could only be explained by a vast calamity. Ginny had defended her by suggesting that maybe Michelle did not like children. 'Nobody likes children' Sasha's mom had responded. 'That doesn't mean you don't have them'.

"How are you?" Michelle asked. "I haven't seen you since...since our chat on Saturday."

Was it that long ago? Ginny thought. Yet so much had occurred since then that it felt inconceivable it was now only Wednesday. "I'm fine, thank you, but..."

"Sasha told me about your bruised ribs," Michelle added before Ginny could bring them up as a reason for not attending. She did not mind. This was going a little easier than expected.

"Are you sure you fell off a chair?" Cozette asked from the shadows. "Frankie told me you fell down the stairs."

Ginny flinched back two steps at the voice. An ice-stabbing fear enveloped her; she had not seen her there. Her nemesis stood up and walked to the edge of the dance floor. Ginny caught her own expression of horror in the large floor-to-ceiling mirror. Coupled with the fear-inducing light headedness she felt, she knew Cozette had defeated her in a matter of seconds. This fed an intense anger in her. Anger was good. Rather that than fear or self-loathing or being caught helpless in a trap. She fed the anger with every bad thought she could muster about the loathsome girl before her.

"I think, perhaps, you are just tired," Cozette continued seemingly not bothered she had an audience, or perhaps relishing it. "Three nights in a row with my brother would challenge the most bendy of ballerinas, and I understand that you are particularly... bendy."

"You slept with Frankie!" Sasha exclaimed from Ginny's right hand side. Ginny was now stoked with anger. She could have split a rock with it. "When were you going to tell me? I comforted you yesterday."

"Ooops," Cozette teased.

"Michelle," Ginny looked to her teacher. "Could you leave us alone, please?"

"I don't think I can," she replied.

"Should I leave too?" Sasha prodded.

Ginny felt trapped between two accusers and with a judge in the centre for good measure. "What is wrong, Sasha?" She asked heatedly and with an impatience that she was having to defend herself against a friend. "Are you angry that I rushed in where angels fear instead of making an appointment!" She regretted it a millisecond after saying it.

"Fuck you!" Sasha retorted, but with tears in her eyes. Michelle half rebuked her and half went to placate, but she stormed out of the studio.

Ginny was genuinely shocked at the response. Horrified. Scared and verging on heartbroken. But insanely angry as well.

"Alienating friends seems to run in the family, it would appear. I understand your mother has an uncanny knack of upsetting people..."

Ginny screamed and launched herself beserker-like at Cozette. Michelle was only just able to grab her in time, much to Ginny's frustration, although she did get the satisfaction of seeing a look of abject fear on Cozette's face. She struggled against Michelle's hold, immune to the pain it was exerting on her ribcage.

"Ginny, stop it!" The older woman shouted.

"Act like a bitch, get slapped like a bitch," Ginny quoted unrepentant, unyielding.

"Cozette," Michelle directed at the other girl. "Go home...and to be honest I'd rather you didn't come back again."

"That's fine by me," she responded defiantly, but with a distinct tone of having somehow lost something. "Frankie and I are leaving town in a few days anyway."

Ginny knew she had won a victory of sorts this evening, but at what cost? And Frankie was leaving. With Cozette out of the room she relaxed her pull on Michelle, who in turn released her hold – slowly so as not drop the girl. "What was that all about?" She asked wearily, exhausted from the exertion and the need to behave the adult when in truth she would like to have slapped Cozette as well. "And don't say it was just a disagreement over sleeping with her brother."

"Step brother," Ginny corrected absently, staring in the direction Cozette had left. Her thoughts terrified her. Her need to chase after her and resume where she had left off made her veins itch with frustration. It took several seconds to calm herself. 'I am not my mother' she said to herself, but her pulse still raced. And her ribs ached beyond belief.

"What was that?" Michele asked confused.

It took a while for Ginny to realise Michelle was querying her last statement. "They're step siblings, not blood-related." She looked up at her. "They're... very close."

Michelle cottoned on straight away. She could not help feeling she was in the audience of a crude reality show, except Ginny did not look the part.

"I'm sorry for tonight," Ginny offered genuinely. "Matters have got a little out of hand since we last spoke."

"Are they under control now?"

"Not really. I think I am just going with the flow at the moment."

"Sasha will come around. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes," Ginny agreed out loud, but felt less sure. "I'll...I'll see you later...when my ribs are healed better. OK?" Michelle nodded and watched her student turn and walk to the studio exit.

-/-/-/-/-/-/

Ginny pulled open the dance studio door and was buffeted by a wall of warm air bordering the air conditioned room behind her like a besieging enemy. In the late-evening pale light, assisted by the glow of nearby lamps she noticed Cozette talking to her step brother. She froze: a mixture of fear at further confrontation; a desire to initiate it and the need to speak with Frankie fought for control of her. Years of regimented breathing exercises failed to stop her heart from pumping ferociously and from holding her breath in anticipation. The two sibling-lovers appeared to be arguing; Cozette being the most animated with Frankie punctuating her with the occasional shake of his head and apparent one-word responses. Ginny wanted to know, but did not want to know what they were disputing. She knew it had to be about her and felt sick but fascinated. Frankie suddenly looked over at her causing her to catch the breath she had just taken and flinch back slightly. Noticing she had lost her brother's attention Cozette turned her head to follow his line of sight. She could not hide her contempt but, smiled unkindly and walked off.

Frankie picked up his haversack and turned away from Ginny and started to walk in the opposite direction to his sister.

"Wait. Frankie, wait," Ginny shouted and walked towards the retreating boy. He made no response or change of pace. "Please!" She entreated.

He stopped and turned towards her as she got closer to him. "What do you want, Ginny?"

Ginny snatched comfort that she could detect no sign of contempt in his voice, but rather a note of weariness. Was this directed at her or Cozette? Or was he just tiring of the game? Did he regret starting it? If the latter, could he not conjure up anything that had been good? Despite the manipulation of her feelings she knew she would do it again and wanted to desperately continue, whatever the terms and conditions. Did he not savour anything? "You know what I want," she said eventually.

"I'm not sure I do," he said. "Are you professing your love for me?" He asked, this time contempt evidenced.

Ginny now stood just a foot from him. She did not respond because she knew she did not love him but was unsure how it would sound out loud. She was also conscious that if she did not love him but still wanted to be with him, the real reason might sound worse.

"I'm glad," Frankie added, interpreting her non-response as a negative. "There was definitely no 'love' last night. Last night you were seeking an escape route from reality. I was your travelling companion into oblivion. The intensity shocked even me." Ginny looked away. "You were using me as much as I was using you," he accused. "I could have been anyone," he flung as a final blow.

The last sentence hit hard. "That's not true!" She desperately wanted to convince him. She did not need to convince herself; she was not so far gone that she would have sought a complete stranger. She wanted him to believe her. Needed him to believe. Even if her reasons were not romantic, were selfish even, or shameful – no not that - she needed him to stay. Like a child reaching out instinctively to a flame she raised out her hand to his face. "I'm in love with your beautiful body, your touch on my skin; warm and unexpectedly gentle. I love the drawings you make of me when I am not noticing."

He took hold of her hand, lowered her arm, then released her. "You're using sex to escape from the reality of whatever you are facing."

"What's wrong with that!" Ginny entreated. "You used it as part of a game; as a twisted experiment you and Cozette were conducting. **I **could have been anyone!"

"I know," Frankie made no argument. "I freely admit my sins and I also confess I am not particularly ashamed as we both obviously benefited but, Ginny," he put his hands on her shoulders, then gently touched her face. She leant into the caress. "You still have to face what you are trying to hide from when our game is over. Recreational sex is fine, but using it to escape from reality is no better than drug-taking. I don't want to be part of that." He kissed her gently and turned to leave.

Ginny had remained silent. She knew he was right. She had known all of it before their last night together. "You haven't asked me what I am escaping from," she put to him.

He turned round. "I don't really want the hassle of knowing," he confessed without a hint of guilt in his voice, then resumed his exit.

Ginny watched him go until the last glimpse of him disappeared beyond the last visible street lamp. She stood straight, her hands hanging at her sides. Her eyes almost unblinking. What should she do now? Where should she go? Panic suddenly took her. She put a hand to her mouth to stifle any sound that threatened to emanate. Her breathing quickened, her vision clouded over. She felt sure she would have keeled over where she stood if not for the sound of footsteps from behind. She swung round, almost toppling over with the effort and feeling overwhelmed by a desperate hope that someone was there to catch her.

Michelle stood at the point she had reached before her approach had been noticed. Ginny stood there, her arms folded or rather wrapped round her small body frame, making her appear even smaller than she already was. The student stared at the teacher, wide eyed with...fear? With embarrassment? Shame? Sorrow? Michelle was transfixed by a silent movie stars range of emotions played out before her. As if to release her from her discomfort – a gift of kindness, Ginny offered up a smile and curtsied. "I hope you saw everything," she said. "I tend not to give encores."

"Are you OK?" Michelle asked and felt stupid straight away. Why were these children always challenging her status quo as a non-parent? Why did she always feel a strong desire to help regardless of her status. Ginny shrugged her shoulders in response and it took a couple of seconds for Michelle to realise is was to her verbal question as opposed to her internal thoughts. "I can't understand why you want to still be with that boy," she added.

Ginny realised that Michelle had heard most of what had occurred. Pretence was therefore impossible. Unnecessary. "Don't all women secretly prefer bastards to the guy next door?"

Michelle failed to hide her surprise at the question. Its flippancy and...jaded maturity shocked her. "I don't know what to be more shocked at; the words themselves or the glint in your eye and carefree demeanour as you said them."

"I always have a carefree demeanour. It's my thing."

"Not lately."

"I confess its taking a special amount of effort to appear perky."

"From what you have just gone through you have good reason to lower the veil; to seek help from those who want to help."

Ginny felt a little annoyed at the unsubtle comment, but she wanted so much to open up to Michelle. To tell her everything. However, her self-defeating stubbornness prevailed. "I'm not a victim here," she declared. "I know what I'm doing. What I want...what I need."

"What do you need?"

"Distraction."

"From what, for goodness sake?" Michelle was exasperated. Someone so young should not be spouting such adult statements. Especially someone who mere weeks earlier had appeared level-headed. Happy. Ginny gave a weak smile and looked down at her feet. "From stuff you don't want to talk about," Michelle inserted into the silence. "OK, am I being told to stop asking questions?"

"You're being thanked for showing concern and being there when I need you...just not in so many words."

"Different words in fact."

"But lots of eye movement and body language."

"A veritable silent movie star."

Ginny smiled genuinely; so much evidencing the 16-year-old Michelle had gotten to know over the previous weeks. The innocence-hanging-on-for-dear-life it conveyed drowned her in emotions she thought she was incapable of feeling. She was not oblivious to the onslaught being inflicted on her carefully-constructed cynicism. The four girls she had formed a bond with had been chipping away at it since she had moved to Paradise with Hubble.

"I want to tell someone," Ginny confessed, breaking her teacher's reverie. "Tell **you** especially, but I fear I may lose more than gain in the telling."

"Well you know where to find me if you change your mind, although preferably not too late at night...or too early in the morning. Do you want to come inside for a while?"

"Yes, but I should go home." Michelle detected a split second of emotion get hidden behind another thin smile.

"Well... OK, just don't spend the night listening to Jagged Little Pill."

"What?"

"Oh, come on!" She sighed in mock horror.

She could not say whether Ginny successfully held the grin on her face as she turned round and left her alone in the courtyard.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Sasha was slow to respond to the sound of her door bell. She wiped her eyes of tears and looked at her reflection to dispel any fears of puffiness. Satisfied she did not look a total wreck, she walked up to her door and peered through the peep hole. She squealed in delight at seeing Ginny standing in the hallway. She opened the door and both girls regarded each other for a handful of seconds. Sasha then lunged at her friend and enveloped her in a long-armed hug and said 'I'm sorry' at the same time as Ginny uttered the same.

They stood entangled for several more seconds before Ginny was able to say something. "Uh, Sasha, I was hoping that was the password to get in."

Sasha released her hold and stood straight. "Of course. I'm silly, sorry. Come in, come in." She led the way with Ginny only just able to keep up.

"Good grief, Sasha," Ginny uttered. "For someone with such skinny arms, you hug like a bear." She tested her bruised ribs.

The two girls stood in Sasha's living room, facing each other for more awkward seconds.

"We've know each other for too long for this evening to effect us, right?" Sasha ventured.

"I hope so, but it was you who were insulted, not me, so...are we OK?" Ginny asked with a surface calm she did not feel. A slight earth tremor would swallow her whole. She had no recovery strategy should Sasha ask her to leave and not come back again, ever.

"Of course we're OK, silly. Now sit down while I put a pot of coffee on."

Ginny did as she was told. She looked around her at Sasha's new home. Everything was in its right place; a veritable show home of single-woman living. She screwed her eyes at the real-estate agent thoughts. She had to find a hobby; a vocation. She needed something to fall back on should the dancing and singing ambition not play out. Sasha rescued her from her obsessing by approaching with a cafetiere of coffee and two cups balanced on a tray, only to drag her into a whole knew degree of awkward.

"So," the taller girl opened. "Tell me everything."

Ginny stared at her blankly. "There's not much to tell," she lied.

"That's good. In which case you can jump to the important bit." Ginny still looked at her; a closed book. "What was it like...with Frankie?" She specified.

"Sasha!"

"Don't Sasha me. Did you actually think you could get away without giving me every detail?"

"Yes, yes damn yes." Ginny replied. She felt herself go bright red. She could swear she was on fire.

"That's not fair," Sasha pouted. "We've known each other since pre-school. We've shared everything. I taught you how to ride a bike without stabilisers, how to dive into a pool. You taught me my times tables, how to do my shoe laces up...wow..." Ginny could not prevent a questioning look. "Sorry," Sasha added eventually. "It just crossed my mind how much we have done for each other. Boy, we had crap parents."

Ginny laughed out loud and was joined by her friend. They swapped memories of joint reliance; most they had previously forgotten or had placed no importance on. Mel and Boo were also mentioned. How long would it take for Mel to realise she was meant for Dez – as a high school romance as opposed to a life-long commitment- the latter was hilariously inconceivable; Mel was too flighty, Dez too...Dez-like. Boo and Carl on the other hand had soul mates indelibly inked on her foreheads.

"So," Sasha punctuated the conversation eventually. "You and Frankie, detail."

"Oh...crap."

"Yea, as if I was going to let you off that lightly." Ginny blushed again and hid behind her cup of coffee. "I kind of need to know...it's not just lurid curiosity." Her friend eyed her sardonically. "OK, perhaps half lurid curiosity."

"You need to know? Why?" Ginny tried to turn the tables.

"I live in an apartment, Ginny," Sasha replied as if that explained everything. "I can hear the toilet flush in the apartment on the left of me and the guy to the right has hay-fever and I swear I hear every sneeze." Ginny was smiling at her. Sasha thought she had made her point sufficiently, but knew she was being made to elaborate. How had Ginny reversed the squirm factor to her so easily? "I'm worried that if Roman and I...if we...If I decide to... will it wake the neighbours?" Ginny lost it completely. She rolled back in her chair in bruised-rib-aching hysterics. Very undignified as far as Sasha was concerned. "I'm serious, Ginny." She attempted, although she was close to being infected by her friend's enthusiasm.

"I know," Ginny squeezed out between gasps of air before giggling again. Exhaustion and rib pain eventually controlled her.

"So?"

Ginny sat up and made an unsuccessful show of being serious. "You just need to control the heavy grunting and rhythmic screaming, oh and watch out for the final ear-shattering squeal. Otherwise you'll be fine." She burst out laughing again.

"Now you're just being mean," Sasha tried to pout again, but failed to hold back a grin.

"I'm not being mean," Ginny interjected. "I'm being incredibly uncomfortable with this conversation."

"Mean."

"You just have to know that the first time is wonderful and each subsequent time is even better. Rats to how noisy it is. To be honest, that will be the last thing on your mind."

"See, was that so hard to say?"

"Yes actually and promise me you won't tell Mel and Boo."

"Promise, but only if I can be in the same room when **you** do." Sasha bargained.

"OK." There was a pause for a few seconds before Ginny added, "Sasha...what is it like, living on your own?"

-/-/-/-/-/-

Later that evening Ginny reached her front door; far too quickly for her liking. The walk home had bombarded her with images: Cozette's scorn and mockery; Sasha's disappointment and anger, but the wonderful make-up session; Frankie's beauty despite his tactless home truths. Her own behaviour toyed with her dwindling sense of self worth: did she really go to strike Cozette; belittle Sasha...reveal her twisted desires - but not the reasons behind them, to the only person who would understand?

She pushed open the door and found her mother pacing the hallway. "Hi, mom," she opened hopefully. As far as she was aware her mother had gone to work that day, which usually bode well for a more lucid than normal evening.

"Don't you just 'hi mom'. Where have you been?"

It had been a faint hope, but Ginny mourned its loss. "I was chatting to friends after the lesson," she explained and looked at her watch. "It's not that late."

"That damn class again. Always that class. Your father was right when he said it was a waste of money and that you would abuse the privilege, but I convinced him to let you go, despite the cost."

"He never said that!" Ginny backed away from her mother slightly, her eyes starting to mist over. "He...he never said that," she repeated slowly and almost to herself, looking down at her feet.

"You spend all your time there; more than you do here. I think a long break from ballet will do you some good."

Ginny's head snapped up and she felt sick. Sick with fear. Fear of losing another level of foundation. "You can't do that!" Was the only response she was able to elicit.

"It's for the best. That way at least you are guaranteed to be home when your father gets back."

"He's not coming back!" At last. She had wanted to say it out loud for so long. Had held it back for fear of upsetting her mother, for fear of pushing her over the precipice she had been edging along. "He's never coming back...please see..." her words were snatched from her by a full-force slap to her face. Ginny staggered back a step, shocked at not anticipating it rather than at the act itself – after all it was not the first time it had happened. She raised her hand to her face and then pulled it away to reveal blood on her fingers from where her lip had been cut. When she looked to her mother she found she had already moved on to something else.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Ginny entered her bathroom. She lightly dampened a piece of tissue and, facing the bathroom mirror, gently dabbed the cut on her lip. She paused after the second touch and looked at her reflection; dark under eyes, wisps of blonde hair hanging loose over her forehead. She closed her eyes...

She opened her eyes and regarded her reflection in the large mirror that covered the wall of the dance studio, as she held onto the fixed barre with both hands. Music started behind her - Kate Bush, Never be Mine. At the first lyrics she released her hold and slowly walked backwards, then danced - each step in time with each syllable.

_I look at you and see_

_my life that might have been_

_your face just ghostly in the smoke._

_They're setting fire to the cornfields_

_as you're taking me home._

_The smell of burning fields_

_will now mean you and here._

She reached the centre of the dance floor. She pirouetted.

_This is where I want to be_

She pirouetted again.

_This what I need._

And again

_This is where I want to be._

And again.

_This is what I need._

Again

_This is where I want to be._

She stopped.

_But I know this will never be mine._

She wrapped her arms round her small body frame and slowly re-approached the mirror wall, her eyes closed in silent reverie.

_Ooh, the thrill and the hurting_

_The thrill and the hurting_

She reached the barre and opened her eyes.

_I know this will never be mine. _

She walked back away from the wall and danced again.

_I want you as the dream_

_not the reality_

_That clumsy goodbye kiss could fool me_

_But I'm looking over my shoulder_

_At you happy without me._

Again she pirouetted at each line of chorus.

_This is where I want to be_

_this is what I need_

_This is where I want to be_

She stopped and re-approached the wall again, eyes shut.

_Ooh, the thrill and the hurting_

_will never be mine._

_The thrill and the hurting_

_it will never be mine._

_The thrill and hurting._

_Will never be mine._

She opened her eyes...

She opened her eyes and regarded her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Tomorrow would be another day; time to learn to live without the promise of Frankie's beautiful release; his hands tracing down her spine, his warm breath on her neck; time to consider what to do about her mother. Satisfied that she had stemmed the bleeding from her lip, she undertook her normal routine before retiring to her bed.

-/-/-/-/-/-

She awoke with a start to find her mother sitting on the edge of her bed looking down at her; she had forgotten to lock her door before retiring for the night. She sat up and her mother laid her hand on her leg on top of the covers.

"How are you, dear?" Her mother asked.

Ginny did not know what to say beyond 'she was fine, thank you'. She did not know what to do. It was as though there was a whole set protocol on how to respond to a mother's show of affection she had forgotten. Not that she had never learned, but she had forgotten how to use. Like she had lost some vestige of humanity hard-won through aeons of evolution. She put her hand to her mouth to stifle the mixture of despair and hope welling up inside. "I think I know how I can get your father to return to me." Ginny closed her eyes briefly in dismay.

Then all hope was vanquished.

To be continued.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Michelle missed seeing Ginny dance. There was no style she could not undertake and she was best-in-class at modern dance. She could sing as well! Michelle hoped she was OK. She was not as bothered about students missing the occasional lesson as Fanny was. She certainly would not go searching through town to confront an absconder – or an 'escapee' as the older woman sometimes referred to them, when she was in a particular mood. Today, however, she was concerned about Ginny's absence; even if she could not dance, she would surely have come to watch. The confrontation with Cozette and what followed with Frankie had played on her mind most of the night; including her own response to it which she felt she could have handled better.

The dance studio was a sanctuary from the outside world where the scintillating fact Kim Kardashian wore jeans and who was voted off, on, in or out were considered headline news. How on earth had she coped with Las Vegas for so long – apart from the money, of course?

She stood watching her class perform her instructions. It was glorious to see her charges give themselves to their characters. She could well recall her own performances. Dancing ballet on stage was like experiencing a whirlwind – you step on stage and live a lifetime in such a short space of time. To experience the betrayal and heartbreak and vulnerability of a role is incredible. Each girl and boy was a marvel to behold; testament to Madame Fanny's teachings, although she was proud to note to herself that a few of the pupils had joined since she had arrived in Paradise. Sasha's skill and artistry still amazed her. Michelle was almost envious of her directness and how sinewy she was; a dark-haired wire of energy. Her chiselled features, elongated limbs and tapering fingers already suggested a ballerina from central casting. Cozette had also been a wonder to watch - all passion belying her years, but not her appearance, which was of a young woman who knew what she wanted and tended to get it. Boo had the same skill as Cozette, but with all the innocence of a 16-year old that Cozette must surely have had at some point.

Of course, Cozette was not there. Nor was her brother, sitting at the back sketching the dancers which, now she thought about it, had been a creepy thing to do. No, Jaime and Cersei had left the building and would shortly be leaving town. Michelle thought it a shame they would slip out. She much preferred them being paraded out down Main Street with a braying X-Factor crowd booing and hissing.

Her cell phone rang.

"Hello, if this is Fanny, yes I know I should have turned the phone off and congratulations on your subtle detective work, although somewhat pyrrhic victory. If this is not Fanny, how can I help you? ...the hospital?...she asked for me?" The class stopped practising to listen. "Yes, of course...I'll be right over...is there anything you can tell me...OK, I understand." She closed the phone and stared at the exit for several seconds.

"Michelle?" Melanie spoke from the dance floor.

Michelle had forgotten they were there and turned in surprise. Again, she paused before speaking; mulling over what to do. "I'm sorry, guys but I have to end the class early today. Tell your parents I will refund them or add an extra lesson free of charge." The students gathered their belongings and started to make their way to the stairs leading to the changing rooms. "Sasha, Boo and Mel, could you hold on for a second?"

The three friends stood in a group looking to each other for a clue as to what was occurring. They observed Michelle watch the other dancers disappear into the room upstairs. She finally turned to them, a look of concern emanating. "That was the hospital on the phone. Apparently Ginny was admitted this morning." The others edged closer immediate dismay and fear on their faces. "They wouldn't give any details," she added pre-empting their obvious need to ask.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

The car journey to the hospital had been unbearably long even if it had only been 15 minutes. The time it took to be seen by the receptionist and wait for a volunteer porter to come to them, and the long white corridor to Ginny's room all seemed cruelly designed to prevent them from seeing their friend. However, they were eventually ushered into the observation room adjacent to her room proper. They found a doctor and a uniformed police officer had arrived earlier to meet them. The small group of young women and the elder saw Ginny through the glass partition and could just tell her eyes were open even though she was not looking directly at them.

Michelle approached the glass. She noticed Ginny's hands were bandaged, but otherwise could discern nothing else, although her blank stare mirrored that of the previous evening. She looked so tiny lying there. A drip line was attached to her left wrist and led up to a suspended clear liquid pouch. Michelle turned round to the doctor. "What happened?" She voiced for all of them.

"She was brought in late this morning with two knife wounds to her chest and lacerations to the palms of her hands." The three girls behind him made audible signs of dismay. Sasha put her hand to her mouth and failed to stem immediate tears. "The wounds were relatively shallow and certainly not life-threatening," he added when he realised his opening salvo had been unwisely worded. "However, due to the delay in being found she did require a blood transfusion. The lacerations would appear to have been defensive wounds to prevent additional harm." He held up his own hands to demonstrate.

"Who did it?" Michelle asked, directed at the officer and doctor both.

The latter looked to the former for permission. "Apparently her mother," he replied. Everyone was too shocked to react audibly but Michelle looked to the policeman for confirmation.

"She handed herself in and confessed. We had to break our way into her daughter's bedroom; she had apparently padlocked the door after her mother left. We found her collapsed on the bathroom floor. Was anyone aware of any mental issues...with the mother, not the daughter?"

Michelle looked to the girls. "She took her divorce badly," Melanie spoke up, "and her ex's forthcoming wedding has made home life tense, I think...I know...from what Ginny would reveal occasionally." She looked to her friends and they backed her up.

"She has been covering for her Mom at work at times as well," Boo added.

Sasha approached the glass, wiping her eyes dry. "This isn't happening." She turned to Michelle, a desperate plea in her eyes for it all to be made better. Even though she was often the dominant character of the small of group of friends it was clear to Michelle that Sasha was still very much the youngest emotionally; the one more likely to be confused by life changes and prone to flights of fancy. How her parents could have been so misguided as to leave her alone she could not fathom. This train of thought re-surfaced a question she had asked herself several times on the journey over. "Why did she ask for me? Has Ginny's father been called?"

"She specifically asked for you," the doctor informed. "She became quite agitated when we suggested her father. We had to sedate her in fact and your name is about all we have been able to get out of her since she was brought in."

"How long will she need to be in here?"

"A week, perhaps. Enough to ensure the wounds aren't infected and to ensure her strength returns; the drip attached to her is providing her with nutrients since she showed signs of anaemia and was slightly malnourished."

Michelle nodded sagely to the doctor's reply, although her mind was a conflict of practical measures and mounting sorrow at what Ginny must have been enduring before their eyes without anyone noticing. "Officer," she directed at the policeman standing diplomatically to one side of the group. "Are we able to enter her house; no yellow tape etc.?"

"Yes ma'am. Forensics have done their job and we have a confession. There is a yellow tape, but I can call ahead to the officer on the scene to let you in."

"Thank you." She turned to the girls. "Could you go to Ginny's and gather enough clothes and toiletries to last a few days, and anything else she may want?" They agreed willingly, relieved to be useful. "Can I go into her?" She asked the doctor when they had left the room.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Michelle walked round to the foot of Ginny's bed to enable them both to see each other. The younger woman was lying flat with only one pillow supporting her head. Her eyes were open and along with her expression Michelle was again struck by the silent-movie effect Ginny was able to transmit. Her presence in the room was then suddenly noticed and Ginny blessed her with a smile. The mix of expressions spoke of relief, reliance and despair in quick succession. "How do you feel?" Was all Michelle managed under the onslaught.

"Sore, but otherwise peachy," Ginny responded with a cheerfulness which would fool no one. "Actually, could you do me a huge favour?"

"Yes, of course. Anything."

Ginny giggled at Michelle's earnest enthusiasm, then stifled it with effort. "You're so sweet." Michelle was struck by the incongruity of being gently patronised by a person much younger than her. "I was going to ask if you would place a another pillow behind my head; I am getting a stiff neck looking up at every visitor." Michelle grabbed a spare pillow from the chair alongside the bed. She gently supported Ginny's back as she slid it behind her head, noticing her flinch at having her posture altered. "Thank you. Could you also pull me up slightly to a sit-up position – not too quick though as I have a tube connected – in a place I never imagined and which I am sooo glad I was unconscious when they attached it." Finally re-arranged, Ginny let out deep exhausted breaths and quickly wiped a tear, then gave a reassuring smile. "That's much better, thank you. Say, how do you like my mittens?" She added holding up her bandaged hands, flexing her fingers tips, which were the only parts showing. She winced. "OK, I must stop doing that."

"Ginny, why didn't you want your father here? He didn't hurt you did he?"

Ginny was shocked at the suddenness of such a probing question. She had difficult questions of her own to ask, but wished to banter a little bit longer and edge gradually in, avoiding for just a little bit longer the answers she was dreading. "What?" She was genuinely confused and also angry at the insinuation. "No! I told you before, I am not a victim. My father left me...left us, and my mother is sick. I'd rather not face his obligated concern just yet." A thought occurred to her. "Did you mind me asking for you? Did you not want to come?" She asked almost pleading for a positive response.

"Of course I didn't mind and don't mind." She wanted to cry at the child-like relief in Ginny's eyes. This tiny girl living an adult life. "I was surprised. After all I'm not exactly parent material."

"You can't be oblivious to the effect you have had on us. Sasha worships you."

It was Michelle's turn to wince; the memory of the sex talk still raw in her mind. "I can't fathom how her parents could leave her alone, albeit in a palace of an apartment and with a shiny new car."

"She's doing OK, although don't get me wrong; she's hurting at being abandoned so easily and she knows its abandonment rather than..."

"Rather than a test of the stubbornness of a teenager?" Michelle offered.

"If that's what her parents think, they have seriously misjudged her. She's flourishing actually...in a rabbit-in-headlights kind of way. Besides, Boo and Mel keep her grounded."

This banter was what Ginny wanted.

"Thank you," she said finally. "For coming when I asked."

"Don't be silly. And I would have come even if you hadn't."

"You understand that I asked you as a friend, not as a replacement for my parents? I love my parents. I am not Sasha." Michelle nodded her head and Ginny looked satisfied, relieved almost at being believed. She went silent and a look of fear replaced certainty like a veil across her eyes. "Michelle?" She asked hesitantly. "Where is my mom?"

Michelle took one of Ginny's hands, being careful not to exert pressure on it. "She can't hurt you again."

Ginny snatched her hand away. "I know that...I know that," she repeated in a lower voice. "She would never intentionally hurt me. She's sick. Where **is **she? No one will tell me!" She cried desperately.

"The police have her in secure custody after she came to them and confessed. I think she's being taken care of by doctors – not locked up."

"Thank you." Ginny wiped free-flowing tears. "Thank you. I thought she was dead...I thought she was dead." This time she let Michelle hold her hand and leant into her when she hugged her. She sat up and wrapped her arms round her teacher. She let out a month's worth of emotions; tears she had held back behind a false wall of smiles and routine, and the longed-for embraces of a boy who did not care. Even after no more tears were possible she continued to hold onto her chosen saviour. Finally, however, discomfort overcame her and she slowly relinquished her hold; her arms pulling away and leaning back onto the pillows behind her. She wiped her eyes and face with both hands. "She's so heartbroken. She's wanted my father to return so much that she became convinced he would walk in any minute. Had to ensure everything was perfect. Everything had to be clean. Everyone presentable. Eventually I became a liability to her and..."

"Why didn't you tell any one?"

"I didn't want to be an energy-vampire, sucking the life and joy out of everybody around me. Overwhelming self pity can be a bizarre comfort to the sufferer, but to others it can be infuriating." She smiled.

"That wouldn't have happened."

"Oh don't be so sure; I have been pretty miserable the last weeks. I could probably have sucked the life out of a vacuum. Besides, I was scared they would take her away from me, even though sometimes I dreamed of that happening. She's all I have. Of course, I was just delaying the inevitable and probably made things worse."

"Don't say that. You couldn't have known what would happen."

Ginny offered a smile of gratitude. "It was never going to end well and I knew it. I just needed to be distracted; to forget it was happening. I don't know what to do. I really don't know what to do. Where do I stand? What will I be expected to do?" She listed. "I don't want to live with my dad...or leave Paradise," she smiled humourlessly at how the town's name always made a statement sound inappropriately profound. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I'm abusing your willingness to listen."

"Don't be silly," Michelle chided. She realised that was the second time she had called her that. She wanted to say how overwhelmingly relieved she was at Ginny's breakdown. It evidenced the continued existence of the16-year-old girl against the mantle of adulthood that she had taken on. As a species, Michelle thought, we are able to cope with despair and regret and shame, but are useless at dealing with hope. Hope eats away at our soul. Hope can drive a person insane.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

The police officer allowed the three girls to enter Ginny's house and they tentatively climbed the stairs. They felt uneasy walking around someone else's property without the owner or their friend being present, although they each felt ashamed at the relief they felt that Claire Thompson was not there; no one had warmed to her. Sasha wondered if they all felt the same towards **her** parents.

"Did she 'fall' down the stairs, do you think?" Boo voiced what she knew the others had thought.

"I don't want to go there," Mel responded.

Sasha led the way to the landing and into Ginny's room. She stopped at the doorway, however, and the others, including the police officer, nearly collided. She put her hand to her mouth and ran for the en suite bathroom to throw up, but was caught short at the second doorway when she found a worse scene. She stepped back from the entrance and turned to her friends, who had by now seen the first vision.

Where Ginny must have slept the night before was a spray of blood, with hand prints where she must have scrambled across the duvet to reach the bedroom door. There were other prints on the door, where she had padlocked herself in after her mother had left the room. The lock was hanging loose now where the police and medics had forced themselves in. The bathroom floor by the bath was also red where Ginny had slumped down; a soaked towel lay where she had lain. All of this was seen in a matter of a few seconds, but it took several more before the girls were able to speak.

Boo looked to the police officer. "Can we clean this up?"

"You don't have to do that, miss. We employ special cleaners for this kind of thing."

"I know, but can **we** do it?" She looked to Sasha and Mel. "This is Ginny's **bedroom**." They needed no other reason. Boo looked to the officer again, who conceded their point; he had a daughter of his own.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Michelle pulled the car up outside Ginny's house. Her young passenger had been silent the entire journey alternating between sitting up straight, eyes shut and occasionally looking out her side window. Michelle had caught a haunted, frightened look in Ginny's eyes, reflected in the car window as it went under the shadow of trees.

'A week perhaps' had turned into a three-week hospital stay. After a few days Ginny contracted a hospital infection which spread to her lungs. This required a five-day period in intensive care with an oxygen mask to feed her air until she recovered. Whilst her life had never been in danger, it had frightened her. She had also taken a turn for the worse emotionally after a visit by her father and owing in a large part to the lack of a visit by her mother. Thus the Virginia Thompson who was discharged from the hospital was a ghost of the one who had entered weeks before; several pounds lighter and seemingly void of any semblance of self confidence and worth.

Michelle opened and held the passenger car door. Ginny looked round and up at her as though surprised they had stopped. She swung her legs round and took the elder woman's proffered hand and stood up. She stared at her house; looking at the front door and then up to the first floor and the red-tiled sloping roof. She was rooted to the spot and Michelle had to guide her sideways a couple of feet to be able to close the car door.

Michelle followed Ginny's gaze. "That's a big house for such a tiny person," she said attempting a light-hearted tone.

"I could sell it in a week."

"Would you want to do that?"

"Yes, yes damn yes."

"I'll take that as a yes then."

Ginny looked up at her and smiled thinly. "It's not my house to sell," she concluded, meaning it was her mother's.

Michelle moved forward two steps and expected Ginny to follow, but had to stop to see her still by the parked car. Ginny looked scared again. "Am I doing the right thing?" She asked a desperate look in her eyes which begged for guidance; reassurance.

"I think so," Michelle replied. "Yes, definitely," she added admonishing her initial vagueness. "Your application to be an emancipated minor will likely take a few weeks and in the meantime you can get used to living here on your own." Ginny visibly flinched at the mention of her application and again at 'living alone'; too much to consider in one go and Michelle cursed herself. She held out her hand to the scared little girl. "Come on," she gently instructed. "Pigeon steps."

Ginny opened the front door, but had to be gently ushered beyond the storm porch into the living room. She stood with Michelle standing directly behind her, holding her by the shoulders. Sasha, Mel and Boo stood up as one on seeing their friend. Michelle felt Ginny flinch back slightly, but then relax. She walked round the the young woman and faced her with the others. Everyone remained silent for several seconds until Ginny held up her right hand. "Hi," she offered quietly.

The ice broken, the others approached scarily as one and took turns to hug their prodigal friend. Ginny was wide-eyed with shock the entire time and eventually was left standing and shaking slightly.

"I bet you weren't expecting to see us," Mel broke the verbal silence.

"To be honest I'm curious as to how you got in," Ginny uttered.

"We took your spare key," Boo explained guiltily.

"OK." Ginny smiled and the others melted with overwhelming relief and a sense of happiness. "Cooking," she uttered suddenly.

"Yes!" Sasha piped up just as unexpectedly. "Are you hungry? You must be, you look like a rake. Meatballs and bolognese sauce. Do you want some?"

"Did you cook it?"

"Yes."

"Then, yes please."

"I have you know," Boo butted in "that I can cook too."

"I can't," Michelle countered. "I mean, I really can't. I think I'm actually banned from doing so in three states."

"I burn toast," Mel contributed.

Ginny's attention was dragged from each friend in turn as they spoke. She then looked to Michelle, seemingly for instructions. "Why don't you sit down," was her advice. She followed through and selected one of the arm chairs.

"I'll go and dish up the food," Sasha said. "Guys, give me a hand." Mel and Boo followed her to the kitchen.

Michelle sat down opposite Ginny. She watched the young girl's eyes follow her friends as they left the room. They then swept round the room and stopped at the foot of the stairs. The fear returned; terror this time. She looked away and caught Michelle looking at her. "Pigeon steps," Michelle repeated.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

The food was delicious, and not just compared to the hospital food, which had at least been regular and nourishing. The banter between friends had been wonderful. Ginny had relished each individual minute it distracted her and occasionally she successfully avoided thinking about when it would end; she caught herself looking for the signs; someone standing up; someone seemingly ending a sentence as though it was their last before going.

The end finally came. Boo looked at her watch and stood up. "I need be getting back," she stated. There was a merciful sound of regret in her voice which Ginny clung to for support. Michelle and Mel then stood up and she followed by pulling herself to her feet as though doing so would hold them there for precious minutes more.

"I told their mothers I would give them a lift home," Michelle explained.

Ginny remained silent. She turned to Sasha, who had remained seated. "I'm staying," her friend stated simply. Ginny could have hugged her. Sasha smiled. "Did you think we'd leave you alone on your first night? Your first several nights in fact?"

Ginny was confused. That is when her continued relief allowed the emotion to squeeze itself in.

"Sasha will stay with you over the weekend," Michelle contributed. "Then I'll do a couple of nights, followed by Mel, then Boo. If you still need us after that, we will start the rota over again." She tried to breach the veil of emotions she was witnessing. "Does that sound good?"

Ginny nodded her head and then a smile broke free. "Of course, you could have told me this when I first got here," she chided. "I've been freaking out all day."

To be continued.


	7. Chapter 7

Ginny closed the door having watched Michelle drive away with Mel and Boo sitting in the back seat. She turned round and found Sasha standing where she had left her minutes earlier. Her friend seemingly mirrored her own sense of there being something profound occurring between them. Like everyone close to her recently, Ginny wanted to hug her. It was as if actual contact was needed to confirm that what she saw was not just a memory of a friend; a fear, a false consciousness, but real.

"This is the first time we have been alone together since that night you first told me about Frankie," Sasha opened. Visiting times in the hospital had been attended en block by all three of the girls, with Michele as well occasionally, although the latter often visited alone.

"When you found out, you mean," Ginny corrected. She was still ashamed for not telling her friends sooner; for still not telling Mel and Boo.

"Semantics," Sasha smiled. They exchanged another quiet pause and Sasha then appeared to be holding back from crying. "I thought I was going to lose you at one point," she said emotionally. Ginny did not feel able to respond. "I don't have many friends," she continued. "I'm not like Mel, who can talk to anyone, and everyone loves Boo." Ginny smiled in agreement at the last comment. You had to be pretty soulless to dislike Boo. "You have to look after yourself more," Sasha almost chided. "You have people who care for you...who would miss you enormously...etc." She ended, attempting an offhandedness which would convince no one.

Ginny contemplated feeling put out by being lectured, but was overwhelmed by the wonderful joy of it. Since setting out on her adventure with Frankie she had been struggling to balance a yearning for new realms of experience with a strong desire for something that offered a stable structure to cling to in a storm. Perhaps, she thought, this was how all teenagers felt – were supposed to feel even; a need to fly, but at the same time be told not to fly too close to the Sun or the sea. Every Icarus needed a Daedalus – for the want of a happier analogy, she appreciated. In the absence of her parents – and Sasha's too, perhaps they could both be each other's anchor. It was, after all, unfair to always rely on Michelle to pick up the pieces of their lives, even if being in her presence was dangerously addictive.

"Are you tired?" Ginny asked breaking the train of thought. What had been going through Sasha's mind just now, she wondered.

"Yes!" The taller girl enthused.

Walking upstairs with Sasha, Ginny was able to stem the panic brought on by remembering the last times she had ascended and descended them. "Are you OK sleeping in your room?" Sasha asked on the landing by the door. "I'm in the spare room, but you can use it instead, if you wish."

Ginny walked into her room, with Sasha close behind. She looked from her bed to the door to her bathroom. "We...cleaned up," Sasha advised quietly. Ginny turned round to her voice. "And we removed the broken lock." She looked to where the pad lock had been. There was no sign it had ever been there; holes and splintered wood had been filled, sanded and painted.

"This will be fine." She did hug this time.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Fatigue had won over quickly and she found herself in a familiar place. She stood by the door; a spectator observing a play. Her eyes were transfixed on the bed occupying most of the far wall. Two familiar figures were moving over the sheets in the slow motion that can only happen in a dream. Their passion was muted by the slow care they took to finally discover what they had been searching for since they both noticed each looking at the other across the dance studio, weeks earlier. Seemingly an age ago. Ginny realised this was their First Time being replayed before her – there had been nothing 'muted' about their subsequent meetings. Whilst she felt removed from the action, she could sense his touch; his gentle caress; the running of his fingers down her spine and the feeling of his warm breath on her neck. She whispered her words of consent before her avatar did.

She opened her eyes only to find her mother sitting on the side of her bed. She saw her own hands covered in blood and caught a glint of light from the blade her mother held. She screamed as she awoke from the dream. She clambered across her bed, her duvet slipping as she grabbed at it to get to the far side. The vision of her mother having vanished she leapt for her bedroom door and frantically searched for the pad lock. It was not there!

"Ginny!" Came a desperate call from outside the room. Ginny flattened her back to her side of the door to hold it from being pushed open. Terror gripped her, turned her cold. She slid herself down the door to a seated position and shook uncontrollably. "Ginny!" Came the same voice accompanied by pressure being exerted on the door to open. She screamed again. "It's me, Sasha!" The voice announced.

Ginny stared straight ahead, finally registering the name. She looked down at her hands and t-shirt. There was no blood. The glorious relief of reality nearly drowned her; its heat erased the cold touch of fear like being immersed in a bath of hot water. It vanquished the otherwise crippling embarrassment she also felt, but the latter was still there. "Go back to bed, Sasha," she squeezed out through adrenaline gasps of air, her head cradled in her hands.

"Not going to happen," the voice that was not her mother announced.

"I'm fine now. Go back to bed."

"Ginny..."

"The show is over!"

"What's up, Ginny? Would you prefer I call Frankie to come over?"

"Actually, that would be great. Could you?" Ginny responded with mock enthusiasm tinged with sarcasm. She slammed her fists against the door. "Don't you dare fling that at me!" She raged. "He was there for me; provided me with what I needed, when I needed it!"

"You could have come to me!" Sasha finally let out what she had wanted to say for weeks.

"Don't be obtuse!" Ginny hurled back, but regretted it straight away. "I didn't want to **talk**," she explained in a more controlled tone, trying to appease her mean-spiritedness. She took her weight off the door and pulled herself up. She opened the door to find her friend standing before her. The picture imprinted on Sasha's t-shirt was even more hilarious than her own – Maggie Simpson sucking a pacifier was sooo not appropriate for the occasion, even worse than her own Scooby Doo picture. She could not help smiling at it. Sasha was completely confused by the new emotion. She followed her friends eyes down to her night clothes then to the cartoon dog. She smiled. "So, we have issues." Ginny stated the obvious and stood to one side to let Sasha enter the room.

"Not with each other, we don't," Sasha reassured.

"Thank you, but I definitely have some of my own."

"Unchallenged. Are you feeling better now? Good. Now, if you promise not to bite me," Sasha said pointing to Scooby Doo, "I'll sleep with you the rest of the night." She walked to the undisturbed side of the bed, pulled open the duvet and climbed in. Ginny walked back round to her side, a wide grin on her face. "What are you smiling at?"

"I was just remembering Roman's face when I walked into your living room wearing your bath robe," Ginny replied and Sasha copied her smile. "He'd faint if he saw us both now."

"Then I would get to give him mouth-to-mouth."

The two girls made themselves comfortable. The smaller of the two turned over onto her side and supported her head on one elbow facing the other girl. "What are the chances of Roman getting to see Maggie Simpson?" She asked.

Sasha lay on her back looking up at the ceiling. "Very likely...I think."

"**When **is Roman likely to see Maggie Simpson?" Ginny expanded.

Sasha turned to face her. Ginny raised her eyebrows enquiringly and completely unrepentant at the line of questioning. "...I don't know...something Michelle said." She hesitated. Ginny waited for her to continue. "She said it would be too easy for the two us to get together since I live alone without any parental scrutiny whatsoever. She said the lead up should be exciting, furtive – I had to look that word up. It shouldn't be easy. It should be difficult to arrange... be risky."

"Perhaps you should both go to your Mom's house and creep up to her spare room," Ginny smiled impishly. Sasha laughed out loud.

"Was it like that for you?" Sasha asked.

"Frankie and I were a whole third scenario."

The subject exhausted, Ginny switched off the bedside lamp and sidled up to Sasha for the simple comfort of having a warm friendly body alongside her. The other girl was momentarily shocked, but had no trouble dropping off to sleep.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Ginny slammed the receiver down. She stood, picked up her empty coffee mug and slung it full force at the wall where it shattered and fell to the floor. Michelle came to the door from the kitchen. "What on earth..."

"She won't see me!" Ginny screamed with rage. "She...she won't see me," she repeated, but more quietly and dripping with emotion. Her mother had been confined to a mental health hospital for observation since the incident nearly four weeks ago. She looked to Michelle.

It was the fourth day since Ginny had returned from the hospital and the second day of Michelle's shift. Michelle had received a disturbing, yet hopeful report from Sasha on the handover. This had been confirmed the first day with her charge waking up in the middle of the night screaming, but recovering quickly after.

"Your mother must still feel ashamed at what she did."

"I know that," Ginny responded. "But, she tried to gut me with a kitchen knife. The least she owes me is a visit," she added with heat in her voice which softened again straight afterwards. "I haven't seen her for weeks. I want so much..."

"Give her time. She'll come around..."

"Will you stop trying to reason with me!" Ginny's mood changed again. "Right now I need Michelle, the crazy woman-child, not grown-up Michelle." She sat down heavily onto the sofa. Michelle walked over and sat alongside her. "Did I tell you that my father made no objection when I told him I was going to apply for emancipation and live here?" Ginny asked. She turned to face Michelle. "He didn't even have the grace to hesitate. The bastard didn't even have it in him to pretend to hesitate, to preserve my sense of self worth." Michelle kept eye contact with the young woman seeing a combination of innocence and world weariness. "Am I so horrible a person to be with?" Ginny asked. She was pulled into a hug by her confidante.

After a few minutes in silence Michelle separated herself from Ginny and looked to her for signs of recovery. She was gifted with a smile. "I appreciate I am not the most wonderful poster of a daughter right now," Ginny conceded. "I bet you and Sasha regret agreeing to watch over me." She smiled again to show that she was not maintaining her morose mood-swing.

Michelle looked concerned. "You know that we are staying here to keep you company, don't you?" She asked. Ginny looked confused. "We're not here to watch you," she tried to clarify. "We're not on suicide watch."

Ginny sat back, a look of genuine shock on her face. "Wow. Suicide watch? That had never crossed my mind, although it's up there now for sure." She chuckled gently. "Wow," she said again. Michelle was starting to feel awkwardly embarrassed now. "Thank you, though," Ginny continued. "I should also say that I have never considered anything so drastic...wow."

There followed by an awkward silence which only lasted seconds, although to Michelle it felt like sitting through the Ring Cycle. A thought rescued her. "I could offer to visit your mother, if you like...to see how she is." Ginny grasped at the offer as though fearful it would be withdrawn. "Of course," Michelle added. "I would have to go as grown-up Michelle rather than as the crazy woman-child."

Ginny laughed out loud, but showed suitable shame. "I'm sorry," she enabled herself to say between breaths. "I made that up on the spot. We don't really call you that, I promise."

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

That night, just before retiring to bed, Ginny paused to look at herself in her bathroom mirror. Like a wave of summer breeze she felt herself become utterly overcome with a beautiful, deep sorrow and a sense of grief and loss and nostalgia. It was as though she had an aerial view of her life. She then gradually felt an angelic compassion for herself seep into her being. She realised this was a precious moment now and a special time in her life. If she had foreseen it all coming she would have certainly avoided it – who would put themselves through such torture? But an agreement of sorts was reached that night between the elements that made up her psyche. An epiphany of sorts.

She had coped with her father leaving her; her mother's gradual, then violent descent into her disturbed sense of reality. She had even survived Cozette's student production of Dangerous Liaisons! She had friends to look out for her and to look out for in return. Pollyanna Thompson was back.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

The four friends sat round the coffee table in the lounge at Ginny's house. A large plate half-laden with double choc cookies and double choc cookie crumbs occupied the table alongside three bottles of white wine and no adults. The door bell rang. Ginny studiously wiped her mouth of crumbs and melted chocolate. She looked to the others, receiving a confirmation that she had not missed any, then stood up and went to the door. Frankie stood on the porch looking down at her. She really wished she was taller. She leapt off the ground and into his into his arms, which he opened out just in time. She wrapped hers around him tightly and kissed him passionately on the lips, on his cheek, on his neck, before unlinking her limbs and sliding down to a standing position. Frankie looked stunned, which made Ginny laugh with genuine amusement and a wonderful sense of achievement.

"I've waited a long time to do that," she uttered enthusiastically; the kissing and knocking off guard, although she did not voice that. "You are so beautiful," she added wistfully. "I know I shouldn't say that, since you don't lack for self confidence – you really should consider sharing it out or teaching it. But I have to say it regardless. You are so beautiful; a Greek god; a seductive vampire." She raised her eyebrows indicating it was his turn to speak.

"Hello, Ginny," he managed. She laughed joyously. "You look well. Recovered."

"I am, thank you. More or less."

"I'm sorry I didn't visit you in hospital."

"Why would you? I'm not your girlfriend...or your friend for that matter, really," Ginny added with no malice intended.

Frankie appeared almost rueful for a split second. "Can I come in?"

"No."

"Why not? I'm the seductive vampire after all."

"More reason I shouldn't let you in, surely. Anyway, vampires are old hat. It's all zombies now. Besides, I don't need you. Not now."

"You still want me though."

The self confidence was there again. What had she originally seen in him? "Of course I do. I'm 16 for goodness sake," she laughed again.

Frankie was starting to like this new incarnation of the girl he had originally set out to play and had strangely become fond of, in his own twisted way. But he realised he had lost her. "Good bye, Ginny. This is actually more of a happy ending than I was expecting. Cozette will be furious."

"Send her my worse regards, won't you." She was excitedly shocked at the words she spoke, but gloriously happy at saying them. Witness the new Virginia Thompson, she thought. She kissed her fingers and placed them on Frankie's lips and closed the door after he turned to leave.

She re-entered the lounge to an audience of faces; shock and amusement conflicting. "How do you feel?" Mel asked smiling. "I mean you just turned away a Greek god and a seductive vampire." Sasha laughed out loud; Boo would have joined in if she could catch her breath.

"I know," Ginny responded with mock dismay. "What was I thinking? I mean, you lot are a poor substitute." She looked at them impishly. "Or at least a whole different substitute. Perhaps we could try and..." Sasha threw a half-eaten cookie at her. "One experiment too far, huh?"

"We could always ask Michelle for advice," Boo joined in. Wonderful Boo. Ginny could kiss her.

"We could make an appointment," added Mel.

Sasha did her best Vivian Leigh and sighed dramatically.

"Who ate all the cookies?" Ginny asked. Sasha and Boo pointed in unison to Mel. "Good grief, woman, are you looking to grow another inch? Don't worry, there is another batch on." She headed for the kitchen. "Can I get anything else for anyone?"

"Coffee," Boo almost pleaded eyeing the three empty bottles.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Sasha followed Ginny into the kitchen. She watched her friend fill the coffee pot with fresh water and fit a new filter bag before her presence was noticed. Ginny offered a smile, which looked more genuine than any given over a week ago.

"Are you OK about being left alone tonight," she asked. It would be the first night one of her friends or Michelle would not be there. Sasha had spent the previous two nights in the spare room, which was an improvement on lying alongside her friend as she cried herself to sleep, which had been the case during Sasha's first shift. Ginny nodded her head. "I ask because I heard you have a nightmare again last night."

"I have a nightmare every night, but the difference is now I still get a good night's sleep." Ginny detailed as she opened the cooker and retrieved a fresh tray of cookies. She shook the tray over a plate and the contents tumbled into a heap onto the china.

"Just a long as you are fine," Sasha persisted, trying to gain eye contact to truth-detect.

Ginny walked up to her friend and, reaching up on tip toes, kissed her cheek. "I am more than fine," she reassured and handed her the plate. "Now go and feed the children," she smiled affectionately. "Hold on," she uttered at the last minute. She took one of the cookies. "Just in case Mel S. purloins the last one again."

Ginny watched her friend walk into the lounge. She did feel fine, or at least better than she had. It had been a tense week and a half at home preceded by three weeks of hazy memories of hospital. All of which had been preceded by a disturbing period in her life. She did feel fine; content if not happy, but then happiness was something to be attained; to strive for and she wanted something to strive for. As long as her father remained aloof and disinterested in her life; as long as her mother felt unable to face her daughter – due to being ashamed and embarrassed rather than not loving her; as long as she felt an unfulfilled desire to have someone to share her bed with, she would not be happy. But she was content. Michelle and her three closest friends had shepherded her through the hard times. They had never deserted her or undeservedly criticised her, or made her feel in any way unwanted. She had defeated her own lack of self-worth, risen above the amoral actions of Cozette, expunged her obsession with Frankie...mostly. She felt fine. She just had to stop over-analysing why she felt that way, she smiled to herself, if only to ensure the coffee did not go cold and Mel did not eat all the cookies before she re-entered the room.

"I loved the way you threw yourself at Frankie," Mel uttered as Ginny sat down opposite. "He nearly fell over backwards." Ginny regarded her. "We stood by the window and watched," she added as explanation. "It's a pity you never got to sleep with him." Ginny froze and blushed furiously. "Oh my God!" Mel exclaimed. "Oh my God!" She said again for good measure because the first time did not sufficiently reveal her suprise. "Oh my God!"

Ginny squashed herself further into the back of her chair at each exclamation, amused and a little nervous; Mel on full-mode was scary. She looked at Sasha enquiringly. "Don't look at me," her other friend returned. "I promised not to tell them, remember?"

"You knew!" It was Sasha's turn to receive Mel's emotions and she was suitably responsive; edging herself along the sofa to the safety of Boo. "How long?"

"About five weeks...four and a half," she corrected quickly as if it was less of a sin.

"Four and a half weeks!" Mel then turned back to Ginny. This was getting exceedingly scary now, although they all knew Mel was not actually angry, or at least not actually furious, or homicidal at any rate. "You told her and not me. I'm supposed to be your best friend."

"I didn't actually tell her," Ginny defended herself. "She found out from Cozette."

"Cozette knew! What, did Frankie tell his sister? Charlie never tells me anything."

"Eww, would you actually want him to?" Boo spoke up for the first time. She had held a fixed grin the entire time. Whilst she felt guilty at having enjoyed herself so much, she **had **enjoyed herself so much.

The volcano that was Mel eventually fell dormant. "What was it like?" She eventually asked.

"You're wasting your time," Sasha advised. "I haven't been able to get anything beyond 'it was wonderful the first time and better each subsequent time'."

"How many times did you do it?!" Mel and Boo questioned out loud in unison and equal shock, although Mel preceded with 'Oh my God'. Ginny leant forward and buried her face in her hands in mock dismay. Sasha laughed.

**Epilogue**

They both heard the second sound of the car horn. Melanie's brother, Charlie had finally arrived to pick her up from Ginny's house; Sasha had taken Boo home a little earlier.

"See, I told you he hadn't forgotten," Ginny said continuing on from a conversation centred on the unreliability and the failings of siblings.

"Yea, he's not so bad," Mel conceded.

The two friends stood facing each other for several seconds. Ginny's eyes glassed over. "Thank you," she mouthed silently. She was rescued by Mel's bear-hug.

Ginny opened the door and Mel loped out and down to the waiting car. "Hello, moron," Mel offered her brother. "Late as usual."

"No, I'm on time. You obviously got ready too early."

"Whatever." Mel sat at the back of the car and stuck her tongue out at his image in the rear view mirror. She looked to Ginny and grinned impishly. Charlie then reached for something on the front passenger seat and climbed out of the car. "Where are you going?" Mel asked incredulously. It was then she noticed him carrying a bunch of flowers.

Ginny had noticed a couple of seconds sooner. She stood on her porch-way, arms by her side, eyes wide with a caught-in-a-car-head-light intensity. The latter increased as Charlie got closer. She risked a glance at Mel. Her friend's wide-eyed expression of shock was so funny that the effort not to laugh out loud was painful.

"Hi, Ginny," the object of both girl's stunned silence finally uttered.

"Hi," Ginny managed. She felt both proud that she had achieved speech, but exquisitely perturbed that one word was her entire vocabulary.

"I am glad to see you recovered," the oblivious tormentor added. Ginny was insanely curious as to how he was able to say so many words strung together when she was racing to think of a follow-up to 'Hi'. He then emphasised his superiority by continuing. "I am sorry I didn't come to see you at the hospital," he rambled with no shame. "I did visit once, but your father was there, so I thought it best not to stay and wait."

Ginny was shaken out of her muteness. In its place was a profound feeling of fondness for the normally clumsy, yet currently extremely able young man. "That was very kind of you," she offered emotionally. "And, you should have waited. I...I would liked to have seen you."

Charlie looked down at his feet, then back up to eye level. "Perhaps we can meet up sometime...for coffee," he suggested tentatively. Ginny felt goosebumps. "Or I could pop round and we could watch a movie," he added.

"That would be wonderful," Ginny agreed without hesitation. She glimpsed Mel banging her head on the rear of the driver's seat and failed to hold back a smile. Charlie noticed and turned his head towards his sister.

"That's an ominous sign," he misread. "I'd better resume my brotherly duty or the journey home is going to be uncomfortable."

"She loves you, you know," Ginny gifted the young man.

"I know and I adore her back...in small doses." He allowed a brief sign of sibling affection to escape. "I'll text you, OK?" He directed at Ginny and started to return to the car.

"Um...Charlie," Ginny called after him. He turned round. "The flowers. Were they... were they meant for me, by any chance?"

The clumsy Charlie she knew resurfaced and he held them out for her. To ease his embarrassment Ginny walked down the pathway to prevent him the need to walk up then back again. She took the bouquet, raised herself on tip toe and kissed him affectionately.

Charlie closed the car door and pulled the car away from the kerb. As he drove away, Ginny caught Mel's face in the rear window staring at her in disbelief. She burst out laughing at her expression. She remained standing on the pathway for minutes after the car had disappeared round the bend in the road. She felt like she had just entered an alternate reality; one of the happy Twilight Zone episodes.

Perhaps she would stay a while.

End.

**A/N Well that's the end of my first story in 12 years. I have really enjoyed jumping back on the bandwagon. Whilst I currently have no new Bunhead ideas (I really need a 2****nd**** season for that), I may try to revisit all the notes I have made over the intervening years for stories based on Joan of Arcadia, Life Unexpected, The Lying Game and Lost Girl. **

**Firstly, however, I plan to remove, edit and repost my very first Buffy story along with three sequels I wrote several years ago, but never got round to publish here. I also plan to read (and review) some of your stories as well – in particular Glimmergleam's The Music and the Mirror, which I have already started and am enjoying.**

**Thank you all very much for viewing, visiting, reviewing, following and favouritising (?). You have made an old fanfic writer very happy.**

**CC.**

**Remember: 'to read is blessed, but to review is divine.'**


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